LIBRARY 

OF    THE 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA. 
Class 


IMMORTALITY 


AND    OTHER    ESSAYS 


IMMORTALITY 


AND    OTHER    ESSAYS 


BY 


CHARLES    CARROLL   EVERETT 

Late  Professor  of  Theology  in  Harvard  University 

AUTHOR     OF     "  ESSAYS     THEOLOGICAL     AND     LITERARY  M 
"POETRY,    COMEDY,    AND    DUTY,"    ETC. 


BOSTON 

AMERICAN   UNITARIAN   ASSOCIATION 

1902 


Act 
2&- 


ep 


H?RAL 


Copyright   1902 
American  Unitarian   Association 


UNIVERSITY    PRESS     •      JOHN  WILSON 
AND   SON      •      CAMBRIDGE,     U.S.A. 


PREFATORY  NOTE 

With  rare  exceptions,  magazine  articles 
pass  soon  after  their  publication  into  a  for- 
getfulness  from  which  even  Poole's  Index  is 
no  sufficient  deliverer.  Yet  old  questions 
remain  unanswered,  and  in  forgotten  discus- 
sions often  lie  precious  intimations  of  truth. 
Although  never  a  prolific  writer  for  current 
reviews,  Dr.  Everett  contributed,  especially 
to  the  regular  publications  of  his  own  reli- 
gious communion,  articles  which  have  seemed 
worthy  of  preservation  in  collected  form,  not 
only  because  of  their  intrinsic  merit,  —  all 
of  Dr.  Everett's  thinking  was  so  permeated 
with  what  he  was  accustomed  to  call  the 
ideas  of  the  reason  that  whatever  he  wrote 
has  elements  of  universal  and  eternal  value, 
—  but  also  as  trustworthy  indications  of  the 
spirit  and  tendency  of  religious  thought  in 
America  during  the  last  half  of  the  nine- 


VI 


PREFACE 


teenth  century.  Unrevised  and  unedited, 
these  essays,  written  to  serve  his  generation 
by  one  whose  thought  and  life  were  deeply 
of  the  Eternal,  are  here  reprinted  for  the 
Truth  they  contain,  the  Goodness  they  in- 
spire, the  Beauty  they  reveal. 

W.  W.  FENN. 
Cambridge,  November  7,  1902. 


CONTENTS 

Page 

Immortality 3 

The  Known  and  the  Unknowable  in  Religion  27 

Mysticism 55 

Joseph  Priestley:   The  Old  Unitarianism  and 

the  New 97 

The  Faith  of  Science  and  the  Science  of  Faith  141 

The  Philosophy  of  the  Sublime 173 

Spencer's  Reconciliation  of  Science  and  Reli- 
gion      207 

The  Gain  of  History 239 


IMMORTALITY 


IMMORTALITY 

AND    OTHER    ESSATS 

IMMORTALITY 

We  stand  upon  the  earth,  and  see  that  the 
same  destiny  has  been  appointed  to  all  her 
children.  We  see  all  the  generations  of 
plants  and  animals  pass  away  as  the  gene- 
rations of  men  pass  away.  We  know  that 
the  bird  which  mounts  with  the  gladdest 
song  to  heaven  will  soon  be  voiceless  and 
motionless ;  we  know  that  the  beast  which 
treads  the  forest  with  the  lordliest  step  will 
soon  roam  its  depths  no  more  ;  just  as  we 
know  that  the  crowds  of  busy  men  that 
throng  our  city  streets  will  disappear,  and 
the  places  that  now  know  them  will  know 
them  no  more  forever.  And  so  we  think 
that  the  same  shadow  has  fallen  upon  all  the 
children  of  the  earth. 

We  find  a  certain  sad  consolation  in  this 
common  fellowship,  in  the  thought  that  the 
doom  of  mortality  has  fallen  upon  all  alike ; 


4  IMMORTALITY 

but  we  are  wrong.  Though  all  pass  through 
the  valley  of  death,  all  do  not  feel  the  shadow 
of  it.  Man  stands  alone  in  the  conscious- 
ness of  mortality.  To  him  alone  the  secret 
has  been  whispered.  He  alone  has  gazed 
down  into  the  black  gulf  that  waits  for  all. 
The  bird  lives,  so  far  as  its  consciousness 
is  concerned,  an  eternal  life.  It  knows  no 
limit.  Its  moments  are  simply  the  moments 
of  eternity.  It  lives  as  if  upon  the  crumbs 
fallen  from  the  eternal  seats.  So  it  is  with 
all  the  lower  forms  of  the  animal  creation : 
they  all  live  as  if  in  an  eternal  life.  Death, 
if  they  know  anything  about  it,  is  the  soli- 
tary exception,  not  the  rule.  Though  they 
shrink  from  it,  they  do  not  know  what  it  is. 
You  know  the  method  sometimes  taken  to 
break  a  horse.  His  throat  is  grasped  till  he 
is  almost  dead.  After  that,  his  spirit  is 
broken  :  it  is  weak  and  submissive.  Such 
chill  and  terror  has  this  shadow  when  it 
rests,  even  for  a  moment,  upon  the  lower 
world  of  life.  But  man  lives  in  this  shadow. 
The  universality  of  death  is  one  of  the 
earliest  results  of  his  generalization,  as  it  is 
one  of  the  most  certain.  When  the  logics 
would  give  the  most  common  and  simple 
example  of  reasoning,  one  that  will  be  un- 


IMMORTALITY  5 

derstood  and  accepted  by  all,  they  give  the 
outline  of  an  argument  based  upon  the  mor- 
tality of  all  men.  This  one  premise  all 
will  accept  without  question  —  so  simple, 
so  universal,  is  this  first  truth. 

What  does  it  mean,  —  this  strange  fact, 
that  to  man  alone,  the  highest  of  all,  the 
noblest  of  all,  the  terrible  secret  has  been 
revealed?  that  he  stands  amid  the  lower 
tribes  of  unconscious  and  joyful  creatures,  as 
a  man  might  stand  watching  the  unconscious 
play  of  children  in  a  ship  which  he  knew 
was  slowly  but  certainly  filling  and  sinking  ? 
What  does  it  mean  ?  Does  it  mean  that 
the  world  is  a  mockery  and  a  deceit?  It 
would  mean  this  if  it  did  not  mean  the 
opposite.  What  it  does  mean  is  this,  that 
to  man  is  revealed  the  finiteness  of  the 
earthly  life,  because  to  him  is  revealed  the 
infiniteness  of  the  eternal  life.  In  life, 
knowledge  of  limit  comes  only  with  the 
power  to  pass  the  limit.  The  plant  is  fixed 
to  a  single  spot  of  earth.  It  has  no  power 
of  movement ;  and  it  has  no  senses,  and  no. 
impulses,  that  go  beyond  the  point  where 
it  is  fixed.  To  the  animal,  this  limitation 
would  be  bondage.  The  animal  has  senses 
that  reach  to  other  objects,  the  impulse  to 


6  IMMORTALITY 

move  among  them ;  and,  with  the  impulse, 
it  has  the  power  of  such  movement.  But 
still  all  its  thoughts,  as  well  as  its  movements, 
seem  bound  to  the  earth.  Man  goes  a  step 
farther.  To  him  are  given  thoughts  and 
senses  which  go  beyond  the  visible  things 
of  earth  ;  and  with  these  he  feels  that  there 
has  been  given  him  a  power  of  freer  move- 
ment, a  life  not  dependent  upon  the  earth. 
Thus  man  alone  is  led  to  see  the  barrier 
which  is  fixed  before  this  earthly  life,  because 
he  alone  sees  over  it  and  beyond  it. 

Unless  these  two  revelations  came  together, 
unless  with  the  revelation  of  death  came  also 
the  revelation  of  life,  the  whole  would  end 
in  mockery ;  but  the  two  have  come  to- 
gether. Whence  the  first  whisper  came  that 
promised  a  new  and  higher  life,  we  do  not 
know ;  but  the  whole  world  has  heard  it. 
Hardly  a  tribe  has  sunk  so  low,  that  it  has 
not  heard,  in  some  distorted  shape  or  other, 
this  whisper  of  hope.  Geology,  exposing 
among  the  fossil  memorials  of  ages  long-past 
the  relics  of  funeral  feasts,  and  indications 
of  offerings  to  the  spirits  of  the  dead,  traces 
back  the  belief  in  a  future  state  to  times 
long  anterior  to  history  and  tradition.1 

1  See  Ly  ell's  "Antiquity  of  Man,"  p.  193. 


IMMORTALITY  7 

As  human  life  has  advanced,  this  faith 
has  grown  clearer.  The  race  of  man  has 
found,  more  and  more,  that  its  life  was 
not  shut  up  within  the  things  of  time  and 
sense.  Its  thoughts,  that  wander  through 
eternity,  make  it  know  itself  to  be  the  child 
of  eternity. 

The  demonstration  of  the  being  of  God 
demonstrates  the  existence  of  a  spiritual 
realm  unseen  by  bodily  sight.  And  when 
the  spirit  comes  to  know  that  it  is  in  God 
that  it  lives  and  moves,  and  has  its  being,  it 
knows,  that,  since  its  life  is  in  him,  it  is  not 
dependent  upon  outward  things  and  outward 
changes.  When  you  find  in  an  acorn  the 
germ  of  an  oak,  you  know  something  of  the 
duration  which  is  appointed  to  the  life  of 
which  the  acorn  is  the  earliest  form.  The 
thought  of  God  in  the  human  soul  is  the 
germ  of  infinity. 

Thus  we  overlook  the  barrier  of  death ; 
thus  we  are  prepared  to  receive  whatever 
comes  to  us  with  clear  authentication  as  a  rev- 
elation from  the  unseen  world.  When  the 
love  of  Christ  flashes  back  upon  his  disciples 
from  the  midst  of  the  unseen  glories,  we 
rejoice  in  the  light  that  comes  to  us  ;  when 
the  faces  of  the  dying  are  visibly  smitten 


8  IMMORTALITY 

with  a  brightness  from  a  source  which  is  to 
us  invisible,  we  rejoice  in  the  reflected  radi- 
ance ;  and  when,  in  those  moments  in  which 
the  power  of  the  flesh  is  weakest,  familiar 
forms  and  voices,  to  us  unseen  and  unheard, 
greet  the  departing  saint,  we  rejoice,  not 
doubting  in  these  manifestations  of  a  higher 
life. 

If  you  ask  for  the  details  of  this  coming 
life,  for  minute  pictures  of  its  relations  and 
its  scenes,  we  must  be  silent.  We  can  only 
speak  of  an  infinite  hope  that  cheers  us,  and 
supports  us,  and  lures  us  on. 

Does  the  Bible,  does  Christ  himself,  give 
us  more  than  this  ?  Christ  utters  certain 
parables,  the  scene  of  which  is  laid  in  the 
future  life ;  but  the  object  of  them  is  to 
reveal  to  us  the  relations  of  this  life,  not  to 
picture  to  us  the  details  of  that.  For  the 
most  part,  the  New  Testament  throws  us 
back  upon  our  ignorance ;  but,  just  as  we 
are  ready  to  despair  of  knowing  anything, 
there  flashes  upon  our  souls  the  glory  of 
this  infinite  hope.  Thus  we  read,  that 
"  Eye  hath  not  seen,  neither  hath  the  ear 
heard,  neither  have  entered  into  the  heart  of 
man,  the  things  that  God  hath  prepared  for 
them    that   love    him ; "  but,    in   the   next 


IMMORTALITY  9 

breath,  we  are  told  that  God  hath  revealed 
them  unto  us  by  his  Spirit.  And  John  says 
to  us,  "It  doth  not  yet  appear  what  we 
shall  be ;  "  and  then,  just  as  we  are  begin- 
ning to  despair  of  knowing  anything, 
follows  the  great  hope,  that  cannot  be  sup- 
pressed :  "  but  we  know,  that,  when  he  shall 
appear,  we  shall  be  like  him ;  for  we  shall 
see  him   as  he  is."  v 

At  this  ignorance  we  cannot  wonder.  No 
revelation  can  come  before  its  time.  Life 
itself  is  the  only  revelation  of  life.  Were  we 
taken  bodily  into  the  celestial  realms,  could 
they  be  revealed  to  our  bodily  sight,  we 
could  not  discern  their  true  nature.  The 
full  and  busy  life  of  mature  men  and  women 
lies  open  to  the  child;  but  how  little  does 
the  child  know  of  its  meaning  !  Even  when 
the  child  imitates  the  acts  of  manhood,  what 
does  the  mimic  banker  or  preacher  or  poli- 
tician know  of  the  "anxiety,  of  the  passionate 
eagerness,  of  life !  We  are  but  children : 
how  could  the  relations  and  the  details  of 
the  maturity  that  awaits  us  be  revealed  to 
our  comprehension  !  Let  a  person  who  has 
no  ear  for  music  be  taken  into  a  hall  which 
is  filled  with  some  grand  harmony.  He 
hears  the  sounds,  the  very  sounds,  that  con- 


io  IMMORTALITY 

vey  to  another  almost  the  greatest  joy  which 
he  can  know,  that  open  to  him  the  rapture 
almost  of  heaven  itself.  To  the  first,  the 
tuning  of  the  instruments  conveyed  as  much. 
Thus  impossible  is  it  for  the  spirit  to  re- 
ceive any  revelation,  though  it  be  poured 
into  its  very  ears,  and  pictured  to  its  very 
eyes,  before  it  is  ready  to  receive  it. 

But,  though  this  ignorance  of  detail  must 
be  accepted  and  insisted  upon,  none  the  less 
are  there  certain  large  and  general  principles 
that  must  guide  our  thought,  and  on  which 
we  may  place  firm  reliance.  It  is  with  our 
thought  of  our  future  life  something  as  it  is 
with  our  thought  of  some  far-off  planet.  If 
one  should  undertake  to  draw  for  us  pictures 
of  the  planet,  to  tell  us  "  its  rocks  are  like 
this,  and  its  flowers  like  this,  and  its  inhabi- 
tants like  this  ;  "  if  he  should  give  the  de- 
tail of  family  and  state  life,  of  government 
and  education,  —  we  should  listen  to  his 
words- without  an  approach  to  confidence  : 
we  should  see  in  them  only  a  pleasant  fiction 
or  a  moral  lesson,  or  else  look  upon  them  as 
idle  babbling.  But  there  are  some  things 
which  we  do  know  in  regard  to  this  far-off 
planet  as  certainly  as  if  we  had  trodden  its 
continents,    or   sailed   upon   its  seas.      W( 


IMMORTALITY  n 

know  that  the  law  of  gravitation  is  as  mighty 
there  as  it  is  here  ;  that  the  laws  of  chemical 
action  and  composition  are  the  same  there 
that  they  are  here ;  that  all  the  fundamental 
laws  of  material  existence  are  the  same  there 
that  they  are  here.  Of  the  same  nature  is 
our  knowledge  of  the  life  to  come ;  only,  in 
this  case,  we  have  to  do  with  spiritual  laws  and 
forces  instead  of  with  material.  The  funda- 
mental principles  of  spiritual  life  are  the  same 
under  all  circumstances,  at  all  times,  in  time 
and  in  eternityr  The  love  of  God  —  that 
great  fact  which  is  in  our  religious  thought 
what  the  great  law  of  gravitation  is  in  our 
thought  of  material  things  —  always  is  and 
always  will  be  absolute.  In  regard  to  any 
theory  or  picture  of  the  future  life,  we  may 
ask,  Does  it  absolutely  and  fundamentally 
contradict  our  faith  in  the  infinite  love  of 
God  ?  If  it  do,  we  can  dismiss  it  as  false, 
with  the  same  confidence  with  which  we 
should  dismiss  as  false  any  guess  in  regard 
to  the  planet  which  I  spoke  of,  that  should 
contradict  the  absoluteness  of  the  law  of 
gravitation. 

We  may  go  even  a  little  farther  than  this. 
All  spiritual  laws  and  relationships  must  re- 
main the  same.     We  are   like  the  children 


12  IMMORTALITY 

of  some  family  in  the  Old  World,  about  to 
emigrate  to  the  New.  What  does  the  child 
know,  what  can  he  guess,  of  the  scenes  that 
will  open  before  him  ?  Can  he  understand 
from  anything  he  has  ever  seen,  of  the 
meaning  of  the  words,  "  forest,"  "  lake," 
and  "  prairie  "  ?  Perhaps  the  language  will 
be  different  from  anything  he  has  ever  heard 
before.  Of  all  this  the  child  knows  nothing, 
and  can  know  nothing;  but  he  does  know 
that  father  and  mother,  brother  and  sister, 
will  be  with  him,  and,  knowing  this,  he  is 
content.  Where  they  are  is  home;  and, 
where  home  is,  he  is  glad  to  be.  So  we 
stand  upon  the  brink  of  the  dim  ocean,  and 
let  our  thoughts  stretch  and  strive  to  look 
forward  to  the  life  that  is  beyond.  The 
whole  is  vague  and  shadowy  to  us.  But  we 
know  that  the  great  Father  of  all  souls  will 
be  there  ;  we  know  that  our  brothers  and 
sisters  will  be  there  ;  and,  where  these  are, 
our  spirits  may  feel   themselves  at  home. 

To  speak  more  definitely,  we  may  say, 
that,  in  death,  the  body  dies,  and  that  alone. 
If  we  can  determine  what  belongs  to  the 
body,  and  what  belongs  to  the  spirit,  then 
we  can  understand  what  will  die  with  the 
body,  and  what  will  live  on  in   spite  of  the 


J 


IMMORTALITY  13 

body's  death.  Let  us  apply  this  principle 
to  certain  views  that  are  more  or  less  com- 
monly held  in  regard  to  death. 

There  are  views  of  death  that  make  it  the 
one  great,  decisive  moment  of  existence. 
One  of  these  is,  that,  when  the  body  dies, 
all  possibility  of  sin  dies  with  it ;  that  the 
death  of  the  body  is  and  always  must  be  the 
regeneration  of  the  soul.  If  sin  were  of 
the  body,  the  death  of  the  body  would  be 
the  death  of  sin ;  but  though  the  saints  of 
all  ages  have  striven  with  the  body,  have 
tortured  it  and  starved  it,  believing  that  the 
sin  was  in  it,  and  in  it  alone,  yet  sin  is  not 
of  the  body,  but  of  the  spirit.  If  sin  were 
in  the  world,  in  the  circumstances  by  which 
the  body  is  surrounded,  then  to  die  out  of 
the  world  would  be  to  escape  from  sin. 
Moralists  and  saints  have  disowned  the  world 
as  they  have  disowned  the  body ;  they  have 
denounced  the  world ;  they  have  sought  to 
flee  from  the  world,  thinking  that  thereby 
they  could  flee  from  sin.  We  might  think, 
indeed,  that,  when  the  soul  is  free  from  the 
temptations  that  are  about  it  here,  it  might 
be  free  from  the  sin  that  these  have  caused. 
The  miser,  the  defrauder,  the  sensualist,  will 
not  be  beset  by  the  temptations  that  here 


i4  IMMORTALITY 

have  wrought  his  ruin.  All  the  circum- 
stances of  life  will  have  been  changed.  But 
sin  is  not  in  the  circumstances  about  us.  It 
is  not  in  the  world  any  more  than  it  is  in 
the  body.  There  is  not  an  object,  as  there 
is  not  a  power  on  the  earth,  which  was  not 
meant  for  good.  Money,  which  we  call  the 
root  of  all  evil,  is  the  great  instrument  of 
civilization.  That  wild  passion  which  has 
blasted  so  many  a  heart,  and  blackened  so 
many  a  life,  was  meant  to  kindle  the  pure 
flame  of  the  domestic  hearthstone.  That 
ambition  which  has  raged  through  so  many 
a  land  was  meant  to  be  an  incentive  to  hon- 
orable toil.  No  !  the  sin  is  in  the  soul,  not 
in  its  surroundings  ;  and,  though  the  very 
forms  and  powers  of  heaven  were  about  it, 
the  selfish  soul  would  find  some  way  to 
make  them  serve  its  selfish  ends  ;  or,  if  it 
could  not,  it  would  torment  itself  with  its 
own  failures,  or  heaven  would  be  heaven  no 
longer. 

If  the  death  of  the  body  is  not  the  death 
of  the  evil  which  is  in  the  soul,  still  less  can 
it  be  the  death  of  the  good  which  is  in  the 
soul.  Perhaps  the  most  common  view  of 
the  future  life  falls  into  both  the  errors  which 
I   have  just  named.      It  draws  a  line  which 


y 


IMMORTALITY  15 

separates  the  world  of  living  men  and 
women  into  two  classes.  Those  who  stand 
on  one  side  of  this  line  are  good  ;  and,  when 
they  die,  all  the  evil  that  is  in  them  perishes : 
they  become  perfectly  pure  and  holy,  and 
pass  at  once  into  a  state  of  endless  peace  and 
blessedness.  Those  who  stand  on  the  other 
side  of  the  line  are  evil ;  and,  when  they  die, 
all  the  good  that  is  in  them  perishes,  —  all 
the  kindliness  and  love,  all  the  impulses  of 
a  noble  generosity,  all  the  power  of  self- 
sacrifice  :  they  become  wholly  evil,  and  pass 
at  once  into  a  state  of  hopeless  and  endless 
misery.  But  who  in  this  world  of  ours  is 
good,  and  who  is  evil  ?  How  would  it  be 
possible  to  draw  such  a  line,  which  would 
not  cut  through  many  a  heart,  nay,  that 
would   not  cut  through  every   heart  ? 

And  what  is  the  bad,  that  its  death  should 
accomplish  a  change  like  this  ?  If  it  were 
the  spirit  that  died,  the  body  might  be  left 
in  this  unchangeableness, 

"  Fixed  in  an  eternal  state.'  * 

But  the  very  nature  of  the  spirit  is  change  : 
its  very  life  is  progress.  How  shall  the 
death  of  the  body  thus  transform  it  ? 

No :  death  is  a  sleep  and   an  awaking  ; 


16  IMMORTALITY 

and  we  must  believe  that  the  soul  emerges 
from  the  darkness  of  this  sleep  such  as  it 
was  when  it  entered  into  it.  The  spirit  will 
stand  forth  beautiful  or  deformed,  pure  or  Jv 
defiled,  strong  or  weak,  complete  or  imper- 
fect, healthful  or  diseased,  according  to  its 
nature  while  it  was  living,  half  concealed,  in 
this  tabernacle  of  flesh.  But  so  far  as  the 
consciousness  of  the  spirit,  and  its  appear- 
ance are  concerned,  there  is  between  the 
two  lives  one  immense  difference.  I  have 
said  that  sin  is  not  of  the  body,  but  of 
the  soul.  It  is  true,  at  the  same  time, 
that  much  that  we  call  sin  is  of  the  body. 
Every  wrong  act  committed  leaves  its 
mark  upon  the  brain.  Habit,  working 
through  the  body,  chains  the  spirit  to  its 
past  self,  even  when  it  would  forsake  its 
past  self.  The  faults  or  the  sins  or  the 
mistakes  of  parents  leave  their  marks  upon 
their  children,  give  them  weights  to  carry 
through  life.  The  very  weakness  and  dis- 
order of  the  physical  system,  of  brain  and 
nerves,  make  themselves  felt  in  the  life. 
No  person  who  strives  after  the  highest 
life  is  able  to  fulfil  even  his  own  highest 
thought  of  life.  How  many  persons  do 
we  see  struggling  with  some  false  tendency, 


IMMORTALITY  17 

which  is  always  tripping  them  up  when 
they  would  least  have  it  so  !  How  many 
drunkards  struggle  against  their  terrible 
thirst,  with  a  purpose  and  an  aspiration  that 
would  win  them  sainthood,  were  it  not  for 
this  terrible  enemy!  How  many  men  and 
women  struggle  against  some  infirmity  of 
temper  that  besets  them,  because  their 
nerves  are  all  jangled,  and  out  of  tune  ! 
How  many  such  struggles  are  carried  on 
in  life  we  cannot  know.  They  are  fought 
in  the  very  secret  places  of  the  soul. 
The  brave  struggler  after  peace  and  love 
and  purity,  and  a  lofty  faith,  feels  himself 
often  vanquished  in  the  fight.  There  is 
a  law  in  his  members,  struggling  against 
the  law  in  his  spirit :  so  that  what  he 
would  he  does  not,  and  what  he  would 
not  that  he  does.  Death,  we  may  believe, 
puts  an  end  to  this  struggle  :  it  unbinds 
the  soul.  The  spirit  that  has  thus  strug- 
gled stands  forth  free,  strong,  erect,  pure, 
glad.  It  mounts  with  a  sudden  flight  up 
to  the  heights  towards  which  it  has  been 
struggling  so  long.  It  fulfils  its  own  ideal. 
Loftier  heights  will  be  yet  before  it ;  grander 
ideals  will  lure  it  on :  but  what  it  longed  to 
be,  what  it  strove   to    be,  it    has    become. 


1 8  IMMORTALITY 

What  a  revelation  of  life  it  would  be  to  us, 
if  we  could  see  the  spirits  that  thus  emerge, 
clean  out  of  the  mire  of  life,  pure  out  of  its 
pollution,  peaceful  out  of  its  strife,  exalted 
out  of  its  degradation,  victorious  out  of  its 
defeats  ! 

There  is  another  side  to  the  picture.  If 
some  appear  worse  than  they  really  are, 
there  are  others  who  appear  better  than  they 
really  are.  The  circumstances  that  drag 
down  the  first  buoy  up  these.  With  the 
body  death  strips  away  all  the  outward  cir- 
cumstances of  life.  All  the  advantages  of 
birth,  of  outward  dignity,  of  position  in 
society,  —  all  these  are  stripped  off  from  the 
soul.  It  sees  itself,  and  is  seen,  as  it  has 
been  all  along  in  the  sight  of  God,  naked 
and  open  in  the  presence  of  him  with  whom 
it  has  to  do.  The  restraints  of  life  are  re- 
moved ;  the  soul  can  act  itself.  There  is  an 
ideal  of  evil  as  well  as  an  ideal  of  good  ; 
there  is  a  looking-downward  as  well  as  a 
looking-up ;  there  is  a  love  of  the  low,  of  the 
depraved,  of  the  selfish.  Death,  we  believe, 
leaves  the  spirit  free  to  follow  its  own  gravi- 
tation. He  that  has  struggled  after  the 
right  and  the  good,  whose  heart  has  been 
filled  with  the  aspiration  of  love,  —  such  an 


IMMORTALITY  19 

humble,  God-loving,  and  man-loving  spirit 
shall  mount  up  into  the  realms  of  blessedness 
and  peace ;  while  those  whose  love  has  been 
downwards,  and  not  up,  shall  fall  —  whither 
shall  they  fall  ?  We  read  that  it  is  a  fearful 
thing  to  fall  into  the  hands  of  the  living  God. 
Would  it  not  be  a  more  fearful  thing  to  fall 
out  of  the  hands  of  the  living  God  ?  It  is 
a  fearful  thing,  the  poor  wounded  soldier 
feels,  to  pass  into  the  hands  of  the  surgeon ; 
but  yet  he  thanks  God,  even  though  with 
fear  and  dread,  for  the  surgeon's  skill.  It  is 
the  wound  that  is  dreadful :  the  care  that 
probes  it,  and  binds  it  up,  is  blessed. 

Sin  is  a  fearful  thing :  it  is  the  one  dread- 
ful thing  in  God's  universe ;  and  blessed  is 
any  discipline  that  shall  free  the  spirit  from 
its  power.  We  must  not  forget  the  funda- 
mental law  with  which  we  started,  —  the  law 
of  God's  infinite  love.  The  comet  seems 
to  try  to  shoot  from  the  warm  and  shining 
centre  of  the  system  into  the  outer  darkness : 
can  you  draw  the  line  that  shall  mark  the 
course  and  the  limit  of  its  wandering?  We 
only  know  that  the  great  law  of  gravitation 
does  never  let  it  go,  that  at  last  it  draws  it 
back  again  into  the  light  and  warmth :  so 
we  believe  that  the  love  of  God  follows  the 


ao  IMMORTALITY 

sinner  in  his  course.  No  soul  can  wander 
beyond  the  reach  of  God's  protecting  hand. 
The  love  of  God  is  infinite ;  and  it  shall  yet 
triumph  over  all  things.  We  cannot  under- 
stand God's  method ;  we  cannot  anticipate 
his  ways.  We  know  not  what  discipline, 
what  experience,  may  be  demanded,  what 
paths  may  be  the  best.  He  knows,  and  he 
has  the  power  to  choose. 

We  hear  men  speak,  sometimes,  of  the 
lost.  There  are  spirits  that  seem  lost ;  but 
did  you  ever  see  one  that  was  wholly  lost  ? 
You  read  of  a  single  act  of  a  man,  and  you 
think  his  nature  was  wholly  in  that :  if  the 
act  was  evil,  you  think  of  him  as  wholly 
evil.  But  did  you  ever  see  a  man  that  was 
wholly  evil  ?  that  had  not  a  single  spark  left 
that  could  be  kindled  into  a  flame  ?  that  was 
utterly  broken,  so  that  there  was  no  possi- 
bility of  an  influx  of  strength  ?  Nay,  among 
those  who  are  most  the  prey  of  the  most 
shameless  vice,  do  you  not  often  find  a  gen- 
erosity, a  free  nobility,  of  soul  that  puts  to 
shame  the  calculating  virtue  of  those  who 
would  shrink  from  the  very  touch  of  these 
polluted  ones  ?  And  shall  He  who  does 
not  break  the  bruised  reed,  nor  quench  the 
smoking  flax,  not  find  a  way  to  save  that 


IMMORTALITY  21 

which  is  left,  to  breathe  with  his  Spirit  upon 
the  smoking  embers,  to  bind  up  the  bruised 
reed  ?  Thus  we  stand  by  the  side  of  every 
grave  in  hope,  we  follow  the  course  of  every 
spirit  with  trust.  We  believe  that  in  the 
Fathers  house  are  many  mansions ;  that 
every  prodigal  shall  at  some  time  leave  his 
pollution,  and  be  welcomed  home ;  that  at 
last  God's  great  family  shall  be  complete. 

Shall  we  seek  to  make  real  to  our  hearts 
the  joy  and  the  promise  of  that  waiting 
home  ?  Consider,  then,  that  all  the  truth, 
all  the  joy,  all  the  life,  of  this  present  world, 
is  of  the  spirit.  You  loved  your  friend. 
What  was  it  you  loved  in  him  ?  It  was  his 
love,  his  nobleness,  his  aspiration,  his  self- 
forgetfulness.  These  were  of  the  spirit. 
The  outward  presence  that  you  rejoiced  in 
was  but  the  revelation  of  the  spirit.  It  was 
this  that  looked  from  the  eyes,  and  smiled 
through  the  lips,  and  uttered  itself  in  the 
voice.  Thus,  when  this  outward  presence 
perished,  the  friend  remained,  the  love  loved 
on ;  though  the  body's  lips  are  hushed, 
soul  can  still  utter  itself  to  soul.  Nay,  we 
may  believe,  that,  after  the  body's  death, 
there  is  often  a  closer  union  between  soul 
and  soul  than  when  each   could  only   half 


22  IMMORTALITY 

express  itself  through  the  poor  medium  of 
the  flesh.  And  what  this  outer  presence  was 
to  your  friend,  that  is  the  universe  to  God  : 
it  is  his  glory  that  flashes  from  the  heavens ; 
the  strength  of  the  hills  is  his  strength  ;  the 
beauty  of  the  flower  is  his  beauty  ;  the  love 
of  all  spirits  is  his  love.  What,  then,  that  is 
dear  and  precious  to  us  will  be  lost,  though 
the  heavens  should  be  rolled  together  as  a 
scroll,  and  all  the  visible  forms  of  things 
should  perish?  This  outward  world  is  only 
the  hint  of  the  spiritual  world,  —  a  veil  that 
half  reveals,  and  half  conceals,  its  glory. 
Whatever  is  highest  here,  that  is  the  truest. 
Thus  we  look  forward  and  upward, 

"  Knowing  that  what  is  excellent, 
As  God  lives,  is  permanent/ ' 

If  we  would  form  a  picture  of  the  heavenly 
life,  we  have,  then,  only  to  take  what  is  most 
divine  in  the  earthly  life.  The  gladness  of 
thought,  the  communion  of  love,  the  bless- 
edness of  service,  the  ecstasy  of  worship,  the 
contemplation  of  the  divine,  —  these  are  of 
the  spirit,  and  partake  of  its  eternity.  The 
contemplation  of  the  divine,  —  the  words 
may  sound  cold  and  meaningless  ;  but  if  it 
be  true,  as  was  just  affirmed,  that  whatever 


IMMORTALITY  23 

thrills  us  in  the  grandeur  and  beauty  of  the 
earth  is  only  a  hint  of  the  presence  of  God, 
what  joy  must  come  from  the  ever  higher 
and  higher  manifestation  of  his  presence  ! 

Such  is  our  belief  in  regard  to  the  future 
life.  Well  would  it  be  for  us  if  it  were  in- 
deed the  faith  of  our  inmost  hearts.  What 
darkness  could  gather  on  our  way  if  we  walked 
ever  in  the  light  of  this  hope  !  O  spirit ! 
weary  with  the  burdens  of  life,  O  wanderer ! 
lost  amid  its  mazes,  O  sinner  !  struggling 
with  some  vice  that  wraps  its  folds  ever 
more  closely  about  you,  O  mourner !  stretch- 
ing forth  eager  arms  after  the  loved  and  lost, 
how  blessed  would  ye  be,  how  blessed 
would  we  all  be,  if  we  could  open  our  hearts 
to  the  fulness  of  this  promise,  to  the  bright- 
ness of  this  hope ! 

And  yet  there  is  another  lesson  which  the 
great  truth  we  have  considered  may  bring 
home  to  us.  If  we  must  take  of  the  mate- 
rials of  our  earthly  life  to  form  our  thought 
of  heaven,  does  it  not  follow  that  we  may  take 
our  thought  of  heaven  to  shape  our  earthly 
life  ?  Is  not  the  material  at  hand  ?  Is  not 
love  here?  Is  there  not  opportunity  of 
service  ?  Is  not  God  here  ?  Let  us  not 
forget  that  our  eternal  life  has  begun  already  ; 


24  IMMORTALITY 

and  while  we  look  forward  to  a  more  com- 
plete fulfilment,  to  new  and  higher  possibili- 
ties, let  us  take  the  present  also  in  its  fulness, 
and,  if  we  cannot  reach  the  height  of  the 
angelic  joy,  strive  after  that  which  is  better 
and  nobler,  —  strive  to  enter,  even  here, 
upon  the  angelic  service. 

\ 


t  V 


THE   KNOWN   AND   THE   UN- 
KNOWABLE IN  RELIGION 


THE    KNOWN   AND   THE   UN- 
KNOWABLE IN  RELIGION 

We  have  a  homelike  feeling  shut  in  as  we 
are  by  the  incrustation  of  habit,  otherwise 
I  do  not  know  how  we  could  escape  the 
constant  sense  of  wonder  and  awe  at  the 
mystery  of  the  universe.  The  Englishman 
on  his  little  island  forgets  that  his  island  is 
not  a  continent.  He  almost  forgets  that 
it  is  not  the  world.  So  we,  on  our  little 
island  of  the  known,  forget  the  mighty  ocean 
of  the  unknown  and  the  unknowable  that 
stretches  about  us.  Yet  no  one  can  always 
escape  the  consciousness  of  this.  Many 
have  some  special  riddle,  some  one  point, 
where  they  feel  the  impotence  of  their 
knowledge,  feel  how  little  science  or  phi- 
losophy or  theology  can  do  towards  solving 
the  question  that  haunts  them.  We  speak 
of  immortality  as  explaining  the  mystery  of 
life,  but  it  simply  postpones  an  explanation, 
simply  gives  the  possibility  of  such  an  ex- 
planation.    And   then  of  the  teeming   life 


28     THE    KNOWN   AND   THE 

about  us,  of  the  life  of  flower,  of  forest,  of 
beast,  of  the  life  of  the  geologic  epochs, 
of  monster  and  reptile,  of  all  this,  the  doc- 
trine of  immortality,  at  least  as  it  is  ordinarily 
held,  says  nothing.  Theodore  Parker  un- 
derstood as  well  as  any  other  the  meaning 
of  suffering  and  the  blessing  of  it.  He  un- 
derstood it  so  well  that  it  furnished  the 
ground  of  his  wonder.  The  form  in  which 
the  mystery  of  the  universe  seems  to  have 
met  him  is  this :  How  to  understand  the 
suffering  of  the  lower  animals  and  their 
cruelty  towards  one  another.  Human  suf- 
fering, human  cruelty,  he  could  understand, 
but  the  suffering  of  the  beast  without  ap- 
parent end  or  compensation,  he  could  not 
understand.  Robertson  understood  as  well 
as  any  other  the  great  law  of  duty  and  the 
healthfulness  of  retribution  for  sin.  But  as 
always  the  darkest  mystery  lies  closest  to 
what  is  best  understood,  so  the  great  form  in 
which  the  world's  riddle  presented  itself  to 
him  was  this:  Why  should  our  heaviest 
sufferings  come  commonly  not  from  our 
faults,  but  from  our  mistakes  ?  Why  should 
error  cause  more  suffering  than  sin  ?  I  knew 
one  man  to  whom  the  great  riddle  of  the 
world  appeared  to  put  itself  in  this  form : 


UNKNOWABLE  IN  RELIGION    29 

Why  should  we  be  encouraged  and  impelled 
to  cultivate  and  beautify  the  earth,  to  work 
early  and  late  to  raise  flower  and  fruit,  while 
insects  were  at  the  same  time  sent  forth  to 
oppose  us,  meeting  us,  at  every  point,  with 
some  special  warfare  of  destruction,  fitted 
each  by  its  special  instinct  and  construction 
to  undo  all  our  work.  I  say  this  was  the 
form  in  which  the  riddle  seemed  to  present 
itself  to  him,  though  doubtless  this  presenta- 
tion was  only  the  symbol  of  the  blighted 
hopes  and  baffled  struggles  of  life. 

And,  after  all,  these  special  examples  that 
I  have  referred  to  are  only  varied  forms  of 
one  mystery,  that  of  suffering  and  sorrow, 
a  mystery  that  every  man  must  face  sooner 
or  later.  We  may  have  an  answer  ready  to 
the  questions  that  arise  in  regard  to  the 
general  suffering  and  sorrow  of  life.  We 
may  have  our  theory  at  our  tongues'  end. 
We  may  say  there  must  be  sorrow,  for 
through  it  alone  come  the  highest  spiritual 
gains ;  but  when  the  form  of  sorrow  enters 
our  own  door,  that  form,  in  the  shadow  of 
which  the  beauty  and  brightness  of  life  seem 
to  wither  and  fade  away,  when  the  iron  hand 
of  suffering  seizes  our  own  frame  with  a 
grasp  against  which  we  vainly  struggle,  then 


3o     THE    KNOWN   AND   THE 

the  mystery  which  we  had  thought  van- 
quished and  vanished  comes  back  with  new 
vastness  and  power.  Then,  if  not  before, 
the  question  presses,  "  Could  not  an  omnipo- 
tent and  all-wise  Creator  have  established  a 
different  relation  of  things  ?  or  are  there  in 
the  moral  and  spiritual  world,  as  in  the 
arithmetical  and  geometrical  world,  relations 
which  even  omnipotence  must  recognize, 
which  even  it  cannot  set  aside  ? " 

And  this  in  its  turn  is  only  one  form  of 
the  great  mystery  of  the  universe.  God  is 
infinite  and  man  is  finite;  how  then  can  the 
finite  comprehend  the  infinite  ?  If  his  ways 
are  not  as  our  ways,  his  thoughts  are  not 
as  our  thoughts,  do  not  our  most  common 
words  lose  their  meaning,  lose  all  meaning, 
when  applied  to  him  ? 

Thus  we  are  like  dwellers  in  the  cottage 
of  a  lighthouse,  upon  some  solitary  island. 
We  look  each  from  his  little  window  and 
see  mystery  in  that  one  direction.  But 
when  we  ascend  the  tower  and  look  about 
us  we  unite  these  scattered  views,  and  see 
that  we  are  surrounded  by  the  mighty  ocean 
of  the  unknown  and  unknowable.  We 
feel  the  presence  of  that  infinite  and  incom- 
prehensible  power   which  is    in   all    things 


UNKNOWABLE  IN   RELIGION    31 

and  through  all  things,  which  is  under  and 
over  all. 

It  is  singular  that,  while  theology  has  been 
growing  more  and  more  comprehensible, 
suiting  itself  to  the  tenderest  capacities, 
while  what  we  call  orthodox  theology  is 
growing  more  and  more  simple  and  rational, 
and  liberal  theology  is  priding  itself  upon 
becoming  wholly  simple  and  rational,  all  at 
once  this  sense  of  mystery  should  come  back 
and  flood  the  whole,  like  an  ocean  exulting 
over  broken  and  buried  dykes.  In  this  age 
of  rationalism,  Herbert  Spencer,  who  repre- 
sents the  extreme  of  rationalism,  who  is 
looked  upon  by  many  as  the  leader  of  the 
liberal  movement  in  England  and  America, 
affirms  that  the  religious  sense  is  nothing 
but  the  sense  of  mystery,  that  religion  is 
only  the  recognition  of  the  incomprehen- 
sibility which  is  at  the  heart  of  all  things, 
and  the  awe  in  the  presence  of  this  mystery. 
And  this  form  of  speech  is  continually  meet- 
ing us.  It  is  a  formula  adopted  by  many  of 
the  leading  thinkers  of  the  time. 

It  is  certain  that  in  many  forms  of  religion 
this  sense  of  mystery  is  very  prominent. 
In  parts  of  the  Hindoo  literature  it  stands 
out  to  the  exclusion  of  everything  besides. 


32     THE   KNOWN   AND   THE 

In  the  book  of  Job,  in  the  creeds  and  wor- 
ship of  the  mediaeval  church,  we  feel  its 
power.  Indeed  there  is  perhaps  no  deep 
religious  literature  that  does  not  sooner  01 
later  give  utterance  to  it.  Tertullian  utterec 
the  principle  of  this  form  of  thought  wher 
he  cried,  "  It  is  credible  because  it  is  foolish 
It  is  certain  because  it  is  impossible."  H< 
knew  that  human  thought  could  not  com 
prehend  the  infinite.  He  knew  that  whei 
the  divine  truth  appeared  to  him  it  wouk 
stretch  before  him  vast  and  immeasurable 
So  when  among  the  familiar  facts  of  life 
among  the  familiar  truths  of  thought,  then 
arose  one  shadowy  and  huge,  not  to  b< 
defined,  not  to  be  taken  in  by  the  gaze  o 
the  grandest  soul,  he  felt  that  it  was  for  tha 
very  reason  divine,  and  he  worshipped  befor 
it.  Balboa  and  his  brave  followers,  afte 
their  dreary  and  toilsome  pilgrimage  througl 
the  wilderness  of  the  Isthmus,  reached  i 
height  from  which  an  ocean  different  fron 
the  one  that  they  had  left  behind  them  burs 
upon  their  gaze.  They  shouted,  in  glac 
surprise,  "  The  sea !  the  sea ! "  and  thei 
leader,  rearing  the  cross,  poured  out  thei 
common  thanksgiving  to  God.  How  die 
they  know  that  it  was  the  sea?     Did  the] 


UNKNOWABLE  IN  RELIGION    33 

discern  the  navies  of  the  world  floating  upon 
it?  Did  they  see  the  rich  shores  of  Indira 
skirting  its  farthest  edge  ?  Did  they  see  the 
capitals  of  the  world  drawing  tribute  from 
it?  Did  they  see  all  this,  and  did  they  by 
these  marks  know  that  it  was  the  ocean  ? 
Nothing  of  all  this  they  saw;  only  a  hazy 
stretch  of  water  with  no  boundary  line.  They 
believed  that  it  was  the  ocean  because  they 
could  not  see  across  it.  In  such  a  spirit 
cried  that  reverent  soul  of  whom  I  spoke. 
cc  It  is  credible  because  it  is  impossible." 

Mystery,  then,  has  its  place  in  religion, 
but,  according  to  Herbert  Spencer,  religion 
is  all  mystery.  This  involves  two  state- 
ments. The  first  is  that  the  only  element 
common  to  all  religions  is  the  sense  of  mys- 
tery ;  the  second  is  that  in  this  recognition 
lie  all  the  truth  and  power  of  religion. 

The  highest  flight  of  religious  ecstasy, 
then,  has  been  the  recognition  of  the  in- 
soluble mystery ;  the  fullest  praise  to  God, 
in  fact,  as  well  as  in  theory,  has  been  to  say 
to  him,  "  We  know  nothing  of  thee  or  of 
thy  attributes."  Strangely  must  one  have 
listened  to  the  utterances  of  religious  souls 
through  all  the  history  of  the  world,  to  gain 
from  them  an  impression  like  this.  The 
3 


34     THE    KNOWN   AND    THE 

prayers  and  hymns,  in  which  the  very  life  of 
the  purest  and  noblest  souls  has  uttered 
itself,  have  indeed  recognized  a  mystery,  but 
they  have  been  filled  with  a  sense  of  some- 
thing that  was  not  mystery.  Moreover,  the 
mystery  in  the  presence  of  which  these  souls 
have  bowed  themselves  was  not  the  cold 
abstraction  of  mystery.  It  was  not  simply 
the  Unknowable.  The  mystery  grew  out 
of  and  gathered  about  that  which  was  known. 
Men  did  not  begin  with  the  mystery,  and 
seek  to  bridge  it  over  with  fine  words.  They 
began  with  what  was  known,  with  what  was 
simple  and  clear  as  the  facts  of  daily  life ; 
but  this  stretched,  as  they  gazed  upon  it,  till 
it  assumed  measureless  proportions  ;  and 
what  was  simple  as  a  child's  thought  over- 
awed them  with  its  infinite  vastness.  So  the 
waves  of  the  ocean  ripple  up  the  beach,  and 
the  child  may  run  races  with  them,  or  may 
dig  his  little  wells  for  them  to  fill ;  but  he 
who  launches  on  the  ocean  finds  it  stretching 
before  him  and  beneath  him  and  about  him 
with  a  vastness  that  the  imagination  cannot 
grasp. 

To  the  religious  thinker  the  mystery  was 
always  a  mystery  of  something.  With  Paul 
it  was  love  that  furnished  the  mystery.     He 


UNKNOWABLE  IN  RELIGION    3$ 

bade  us  know  the  love  of  Christ  which 
passeth  knowledge.  He  knew  what  love 
was  well  enough ;  he  had  sung  its  praises  as 
no  one  else  had  done.  It  was  only  the 
measurelessness  of  the  love  that  he  could 
not  comprehend.  Sometimes  it  has  been 
the  collision  of  two  mighty  principles  that 
caused  the  mystery,  each  of  which  was  clear 
enough,  and  each  of  which  was  felt  to  be 
supreme  by  its  own  right;  but  the  reign  of 
each  seemed  to  dethrone  the  other,  and  the 
awed  soul  could  simply  yield  its  allegiance  to 
each,  and  watch  the  strife  in  which  it  could 
be  neither  neutral  nor  partisan.  Sometimes 
the  mystery  has  arisen  from  the  conflict  of 
truth  with  prejudice  and  mistake  that  claimed 
the  sanctity  of  truth.  But,  whatever  has 
been  the  source  of  the  mystery,  knowledge, 
positive  faith,  has  been  its  centre.  The 
strains  that  uttered  the  sense  of  mystery 
have  formed  only  a  deep  undertone  to  the 
songs  that  chanted  the  real  faith  and  aspira- 
tion of  the  soul. 

Herbert  Spencer  says,  with  a  certain  truth, 
that  it  is  as  religion  is  developed  that  the 
sense  of  mystery  becomes  more  strong.  A 
better  statement  would  be  that  it  is  as  the 
simple  natural  religious  faith  is  beginning  to 


36     THE   KNOWN   AND   THE 

spend  itself,  is  beginning  to  pass  into  specu- 
lation, that  this  sense  becomes  marked.  At 
the  birth  of  a  religion,  at  the  moment  when 
it  is  most  religious,  then  it  is  most  full  of 
confidence,  and  sees  the  horizon  most  clear 
about  it.  Even  when  the  reflective  stage  of 
which  I  spoke  begins,  this  simple  confidence, 
in  most  cases,  still  is  prominent.  David  was 
full  of  trust  in  the  Lord  who  was  his  shep- 
herd, who  cared  for  him  as  he  cared  for  his 
flocks.  Job,  coming  later,  was  filled  with 
the  awe  of  the  Unknown  and  the  Unknow- 
able; yet  even  Job  cried  with  a  confident 
earnestness  that  the  sweetest  strains  of  our 
modern  song  strive  to  echo  for  us,  "  I  know 
that  my  Redeemer  liveth."  I  do  not  re- 
member that  Jesus,  with  whom  religion 
entered  upon  a  new  life,  ever  spoke  of  the 
Unknowable.  He  lived  like  a  child  in  the 
sunlight  of  a  father's  smile.  With  Paul 
the  reflective  stage  had  already  begun ;  yet 
he  could  say,  with  a  careful  thoughtfulness 
that  added  weight  to  his  words,  "  Now  I 
know  in  part."  Even  when  the  simplicity 
of  religion  became  overlaid  with  questioning, 
the  old  confidence  was  not  lost.  Augustine 
did  much  to  draw  about  the  Christian  spirit 
the  mists  of  speculation,  to  torment  it  with 


UNKNOWABLE  IN  RELIGION    37 

insoluble  riddles.  Yet,  when  bewildered  by 
the  mysteries  of  infinitude  he  had  exclaimed, 
"Who  art  thou,  then,  my  God?"  he  could 
answer,  "  What  but  the  Lord  God,  .  .  . 
most  highest,  most  good,  most  potent,  most 
omnipotent ;  most  merciful,  yet  most  just." 

The  same  is  true  of  other  religions.  The 
Hindoo  religion  began  with  hymns  full  of 
confidence  in  themselves  and  in  their  object. 
The  later  hymns  first  began  to  utter  the 
voice  of  questioning  and  of  awe  before 
the  Unknown.  It  was  centuries  later  that 
the  Unknowable  was  put  in  the  place  of 
God  ;  and  to  be  incomprehensible  was  felt 
to  be  the  proprium  of  divinity,  so  that  it  was 
defined  when  it  was  called  the  undefinable. 
This  was  the  transformation  of  religion  into 
philosophy.  It  was  not  the  development  of 
religion  :  it  was  its  decay.  But  the  religious 
heart  of  the  nation  could  not  rest  with  this. 
Religion  again  affirmed  itself,  —  a  religion 
that  had  its  darkness  and  its  terror  and  its 
mystery,  but  which  had  also  its  faith  and 
its  promise. 

Thus  in  all  forms  of  religion  the  central 
and  essential  thing  has  been  something  other 
than  mystery.  The  element  that  is  the 
common  bond  between  all  religions  is  not 


38      THE   KNOWN   AND   THE 

negative,  but  positive.  Men  have  believed 
that  there  was  a  power  about  them  or  above 
them,  —  a  power  distinct  from  and  mightier 
than  the  ordinary  forces  of  nature,  to  which 
they  could  trust.  Sometimes,  as  with  the 
poor  fetich-worshipper,  it  dwelt  in  the  stocks 
and  stones  of  earth ;  sometimes,  as  with  the 
polytheist,  it  was  broken  up  into  shining 
points ;  sometimes,  as  with  the  monotheist, 
it  was  gathered  about  one  luminous  centre  ; 
sometimes,  as  with  the  Hebrew,  it  was  a 
power  "  that  made  for  righteousness ; M 
sometimes,  as  with  John,  it  was  love,  or,  as 
with  Jesus,  it  was  spirit.  One  nation  has 
called  it  by  one  name  and  another  by 
another;  one  has  perceived  it  more  dimly, 
another  more  clearly ;  one  has  attached  one 
limitation  to  it,  another  has  attached  another ; 
sometimes  it  has  reflected  more  and  some- 
times less  of  our  human  imperfections,  as 
the  deep  midnight  heaven  reflects  the  glare 
of  a  city's  lamps,  —  but  all  have  united  in 
this,  that  there  was  something  that  one  could 
trust  to.  Out  from  all  limitations  and  con- 
tradictions appeared  this  fact  of  a  power 
of  helpfulness.  So  the  tenderness  and  sym- 
pathy of  Buddha  shone  out  from  the  black 
despair  that  formed  the  background  of  his 


UNKNOWABLE  IN  RELIGION 


39 


teaching.  So  the  love  of  Jesus  shone  out 
from  the  dark  mystery  of  the  mediaeval 
creeds.  Men  may  pray  to  a  mystery,  but 
they  cannot  praise  it ;  they  may  bring  offer- 
ings to  it,  but  they  cannot  trust  it;  they 
may  seek  in  ways  chosen  at  random  to 
soothe  it,  or  win  its  favor,  but  they  cannot 
love  it :  and  take  out  of  religion  praise  and 
trust  and  love,  and  not  only  its  best  beauty, 
but  its  best  reality,  will  be  gone. 

But  though  the  element  common  to  all 
religions  is  knowledge  rather  than  ignorance, 
the  known  rather  than  the  unknowable,  per- 
haps the  other  part  of  the  statement  of 
Herbert  Spencer  is  true.  Perhaps  all  this 
has  been  a  mistake,  and  all  the  truth  there 
has  been  in  religion  has  been  that  minor 
part,  namely,  the  sense  of  awe  in  the  presence 
of  mystery.  Here  it  may  be  helpful  to 
notice  the  sense  in  which  the  phrase  that 
speaks  of  the  unknowable  is  used  by  those 
who  would  make  religion  consist  wholly  in 
the  recognition  of  this.  To  state  the  propo- 
sition in  its  most  simple  and  general  terms, 
it  is  this :  Take  away  all  that  we  know  from 
any  object  and  we  should  not  know  what 
was  left.  To  state  the  proposition  in  a 
phrase  that  would  be  better  recognized  by 


4o     THE   KNOWN  AND   THE 

those  who  use  it,  we  are  familiar  with  rela- 
tions, but  of  that  which  is  behind  and  within 
relations,  we  know  nothing.  We  do  not 
know  what  anything  is  in  itself.  We  use 
the  word  "  force,"  but  the  thought  we  attach 
to  it  involves  contradictions.  The  word 
stands  for  something  that  is  unknown  by  us. 
We  do  not  even  know  our  own  souls.  Spirit 
is  as  unknowable  as  matter.  I  think  that 
if  all  this  were  fairly  understood,  the  phrase 
that  speaks  of  religion  as  having  to  do  merely 
with  the  Unknowable  would  lose  for  many 
much  of  its  terror.  If  it  were  understood 
that  God  is  unknowable  in  the  sense  that 
our  own  souls  are  unknowable,  I  think 
that  many  would  be  content  to  leave  the 
matter  so. 

Here  we  meet  a  fact  that  may  throw  still 
more  light  upon  our  theme.  Herbert 
Spencer,  and  those  who  agree  with  him,  show 
that  the  words  "matter"  and  "force,"  and 
kindred  terms,  stand  simply  for  the  Un- 
knowable, and  yet  they  continue  to  use 
them.  The  reason  for  this  is  that  the  course 
of  things  is  the  same  as  it  would  be  if  the 
words  stood  for  something  known.  They 
are  thus  relatively,  though  not  actually,  true. 
Your  watch  may  be  wholly  wrong,  and  yet 


UNKNOWABLE  IN  RELIGION    41 

relatively  right.  You  cannot  tell  the  time 
by  it,  but  you  can  measure  off  by  it  the 
hours  and  minutes  as  they  pass.  After, 
then,  all  this  demonstration  that  science  as 
well  as  religion  ends  in  a  mystery,  science 
keeps  on  its  old  course  as  if  nothing  had 
happened.  It  uses  its  old  words.  It  talks 
about  time  and  space,  and  force  and  motion, 
as  if  the  words  had  a  meaning  and  a  true 
one.  Religion  alone  is  expected  to  be 
bound  by  the  new  order.  If  it  ventures 
to  use  its  old  words  it  is  reproved  for  its 
presumption. 

But  why,  I  would  ask,  may  not  religion, 
as  well  as  science,  use  its  words,  recognizing 
the  relative  truth  that  is  in  them  ?  Few 
thinking  men,  however  strong  their  religious 
faith,  have,  I  think,  used  the  terms  of  re- 
ligion, accepting  them  as  true  in  their  gross 
literalness.  Here  is  the  source  of  the  contra- 
diction which  Herbert  Spencer  has  pointed 
out  between  the  professions  both  of  knowl- 
edge and  ignorance  on  the  part  of  religious 
thinkers.  The  knowledge  was  relative,  but 
yet  practically  real.  God's  ways  are  not  as 
our  ways.  Our  love  is  but  a  symbol  of  his 
love,  our  righteousness  of  his  righteousness, 
our  spirituality  of  his  nature.    But  though  the 


42      THE    KNOWN   AND   THE 

words  are  relative,  they  are  relatively  true. 
The  course  of  things  is  the  same  as  if  they 
were  true.  If  there  is  "  a  power  not  our- 
selves that  makes  for  righteousness/*  if 
without  us,  and  yet  more  clearly  within  us, 
it  upholds  the  right  and  marks  the  evil  with 
its  condemnation,  why  should  we  not  call  it 
holy  ?  If  it  confers  upon  us  all  the  blessings 
of  life,  and  when  these  outward  goods  are 
lost,  it  bestows,  often,  a  still  greater  blessing, 
why  should  we  not  call  it  good?  If  it 
chooses  the  best  ways  to  reach  its  chosen 
ends,  if  under  its  guidance  all  things  fit 
together  to  form  a  perfect  whole,  why  should 
we  not  call  it  wise  ?  if  the  soul  feels  it 
nearer  to  it  than  itself,  if  it  finds  in  it  a  ten- 
der and  sublime  companionship,  if  there 
flows  from  it  a  helpful  sympathy  in  sorrow, 
and  in  gladness  a  blessing  sweeter  than  the 
joy,  why  should  it  not  ascribe  to  it  the  at- 
tribute of  love  ?  And  when  it  has  used  in 
regard  to  it  the  words  "  holiness/ '  "wis- 
dom," and  "  love/'  why  need  it  hesitate  to 
use  in  regard  to  it  the  word  "  spirit "  ? *     We 

1  Mr.  Fiske,  in  his  valuable  work  entitled  "  Outlines  of 
Cosmic  Philosophy,"  says,  "Provided  we  bear  in  mind  the 
symbolic  character  of  our  words,  we  may  say  that  *  God 
is  Spirit*  "  (vol.   ii.,   p.    449).     This  is  an  important  con- 


UNKNOWABLE  IN  RELIGION    43 

use  these  words  because  they  are  the  best 
we  have,  and  the  truest  because  they  are 
the  best.  When  we  speak  of  God  under 
these  terms,  we  speak  with  far  more  truth 
than  when  we  speak  of  him  simply  as  a 
power,  or  even  as  an  unknowable  power. 
If  we  know  that  the  terms  of  spirit  represent 
him  more  nearly  than  the  terms  of  matter, 
then  we  speak  of  him  most  truly  when  we 
speak  of  him  in  the  terms  of  spirit.  When 
we  look  through  these  symbols  we  are  look- 
ing towards  him;  when  we  approach  him 
through  these  we  are  drawing  near  him. 
One  who  is  lost  in  some  vast  cavern  may 
wander  hopelessly  till  he  sees  in  one  direction 
a  gray  glimmering  that  shows  him  in  what 
direction  he  must  turn  to  reach  the  outer 
light.  This  gray  glimmering  is  not  the  day- 
light, but  it  points  towards  the  daylight ; 
and  the  wanderer  who  follows  it,  pressing  in 
the  direction  where  the  darkness  is  least 
dense,  is  pressing  towards  the  light.  Accord- 
ing to  the  very  terms  of  the  system  which 
remands  religion  to  the  realm  of  the  Un- 

cession.  I  do  not  see,  however,  why  reasoning  similar  to 
that  by  which  this  result  was  reached  would  not  justify,  with 
a  like  qualification,  a  like  use  of  terms  expressive  of  the 
highest  spiritual  activity. 


44     THE    KNOWN   AND   THE 

knowable,  we  may  then  have  a  practical 
working  knowledge  of  religious  truth,  just 
as  we  have  of  scientific  truth. 

But  I  further  claim  for  this  knowledge 
that  it  is  something  more  than  merely  a 
working  formula.  This  may  be  illustrated, 
first,  by  the  fact  that  there  is  absolutely  no 
mystery  without  some  knowledge.  We 
could  not  even  speak  of  the  Unknowable 
without  we  had  some  knowledge  of  that 
of  which  we  speak.  The  unknown  is  abso- 
lutely nothing  till  it  is  seen  in  connection 
with  the  known,  just  as  the  known  is  worth 
little  till  it  is  seen  against  the  great  back- 
ground of  the  unknown.  "  Science,"  cries 
the  ancient  philosopher, "  is  born  of  wonder." 
"  Nay,"  answers  the  modern,  "  wonder  is 
born  of  science,"  and  both  are  right.  I  have 
spoken  of  the  mystery  of  the  ocean,  but  I 
think  that  one  does  not  get  the  fullest  sense 
of  this  mystery  and  this  sublimity  when  one 
is  far  out  at  sea,  floating  upon  the  ocean, 
shut  in  only  by  the  circle  of  the  horizon. 
For  myself,  I  have  felt  the  vastness  and  the 
infinitude  of  the  ocean,  much  more  while 
standing  upon  the  shore  and  looking  out 
upon  its  pathless  waste,  and  seeing  the  waves 
roll  up,  one  after  another,  the  sloping  beach, 


f  °r THE     '     X 

UNKNOWABLE  IN  RELIGION    45 

or  beat  with  the  might  of  their  gigantic 
strength  against  some  rocky  barrier,  than  I 
have  when  sailing  on  mid-ocean  :  for  it  is 
where  land  and  water  meet  that  we  feel  the 
sublimity  of  the  land,  which  would  bind  the 
ocean,  and  the  sublimity  of  the  ocean  which 
will  not  be  bound  !  Thus  it  is  in  religion 
and  in  thought.  The  point  of  sublimity, 
nay,  the  point  of  real  knowledge,  is  the 
point  where  the  known  and  the  unknown,  the 
plain  and  the  incomprehensible,  touch  one 
another. 

There  is,  I  repeat,  no  mystery  without 
knowledge  ;  and  the  more  pressing  the  mys- 
tery the  sharper  and  clearer  must  be  the 
knowledge  out  of  which  it  springs.  The 
brute  recognizes  no  mystery  because  its 
knowledge  is  insufficient.  A  single  illustra- 
tion will  make  this  clear.  I  will  suppose 
that  none  of  you  have  ever  heard  the  word 
"  asymptote."  When  you  hear  the  word 
for  the  first  time  it  suggests  no  mystery, 
because  it  suggests  no  meaning.  I  explain 
the  word  to  you.  I  tell  you  that  an  asymp- 
tote is  a  line  which  is  continually  approaching 
a  curved  line,  but  that  however  long  the 
lines  might  be  drawn  they  would  never  meet. 
With    this    explanation    you    begin    to    see 


46     THE   KNOWN   AND   THE 

something  of  the  mystery  that  the  word  in- 
volves. But  still  the  mystery  does  not  press 
upon  you,  for  my  words  in  regard  to  it 
sound  foolish,  and  you  attach  little  meaning 
to  them.  But  if  you  study  mathematics  for 
yourself,  if  you  study  the  mathematical  form- 
ular  for  this  line,  if  you  see  it  proved  by 
absolute  demonstration  that  the  one  line  is 
always  approaching  the  other  but  can  never 
reach  it,  then  you  will  feel  the  full  power  of 
the  mystery,  because  you  have  at  last  reached 
some  full  and  definite  knowledge. 

Our  knowledge,  then,  though  partial,  must 
be  real.  This  will  appear  more  clearly,  if  in 
the  next  place  we  examine  more  closely  the 
sense  in  which  our  knowledge  is  denied. 
We  know,  it  is  said,  things  only  in  their 
relations,  and  not  as  they  are  in  themselves. 
But  things  exist  only  in  relations ;  out  of 
these  they  are  nothing.  If  we  know  them 
out  of  these  relations  we  should  know  them 
falsely.  We  know  of  soul  only  that  it  thinks 
and  feels.  Its  very  being  is  to  think  and  feel ; 
apart  from  thinking  and  feeling  it  is  nothing. 
If  we  know  of  anything  only  its  relations  to 
ourselves,  we  know  so  much  about  it  really 
and  truly.  An  object  really  is,  even  in  the 
slightest  and  weakest  manifestations  of  itself, 


UNKNOWABLE  IN  RELIGION    47 

just  as  the  ocean  is  in  every  little  wave  that 
ripples  and  breaks  at  your  feet.  When  you 
see  these  you  see  the  ocean  ;  when  you  touch 
them  you  touch  the  ocean.  You  are  asked 
what  you  know  of  your  dearest  friend  in 
himself;  you  know  his  smile,  his  form,  his 
voice,  his  love,  his  nobleness,  but  these,  you 
are  told,  are  attributes  only.  But  you  know 
that  your  friend  is  in  those  words  and  tones 
and  looks  and  acts  that  are  so  dear  to  you. 
They  are  all  manifestations  and  revelations 
of  him. 

You  do  not  know  God  in  himself.  Thank 
him  that  you  have  no  necessity  to  do  this, 
for  the  universe  is  full  of  his  manifestation 
of  himself. 

The  simple  fact  that  throws  light  on  these 
mixed  questions  and  may  solve  our  doubts  is 
this,  that  God  is  in  the  known  as  much  and  as 
truly  as  he  is  in  the  unknown.  If  we  could 
fairly  take  this  thought  into  our  minds  we 
should  have  the  truth  of  religion.  If  we 
could  take  it  into  our  hearts,  we  should  have 
the  reality  of  religion. 

Since  all  things  proceed  from  God  all 
things  must  be  full  of  him  and  must  bear 
some  revelation  of  him.  His  presence  is  in 
the  world  about  us  and  the  heavens  over  us, 


48     THE    KNOWN   AND    THE 

in  the  past  behind  us,  and  in  the  future 
before  us.  The  little  flower  that  opens  at 
our  feet  comes  forth  from  this  unseen  power 
that  we  call  God,  and  brings  its  revelation. 
The  magnificent  order  of  the  universe,  the 
majestic  regularity  of  the  earth  and  the 
heavens,  are  simply  manifestations  and  reve- 
lations of  him.  Some  see  God  mainly  in 
this  order  and  regularity.  When  they  trace 
out  a  law  they  feel  that  they  have  discovered 
the  footsteps  of  God.  Others  see  him  in 
the  uncomprehended  and  incomprehensible. 
The  grand  truth  is  that  God  is  in  both.  The 
mother's  love  that  watched  over  your  child- 
hood was  a  revelation  of  God.  It  was  his 
love  that  looked  through  her  eyes  and  shel- 
tered you  in  her  arms.  The  love  of  Christ 
was  a  revelation  of  God.  Jesus  was  no 
stranger  and  foreigner.  He  also  came  forth 
from  the  great  power  which  is  within  and 
behind  and  above  all  things.  Can  you  com- 
prehend the  height  and  the  depth,  the  length 
and  the  breadth  of  the  love  of  God,  which 
was  manifested  in  Jesus  Christ,  that  which 
Paul  tells  us  passes  knowledge  ?  Its  height 
is  as  high  as  heaven,  its  depth  is  as  deep  as 
sin,  its  length  is  as  long  as  eternity,  its 
breadth  as  broad  as  humanity.     Thus  Jesus 


UNKNOWABLE  IN  RELIGION    49 

loved.  His  love  stooped  to  the  lowest  sin- 
ners, it  stooped  to  those  who  mocked  and 
crucified  him.  It  lifted  them  up  with  its 
last  prayer  to  God.  This  was  the  love  of 
God,  for  without  God  Jesus  was  nothing. 

But  is  there  not  evil  as  well  as  good  in  the 
universe,  and  does  not  this  also  manifest 
God  ?  Did  not  Judas  as  well  as  Jesus  come 
forth  from  him  ? 

You  go  through  the  galleries  of  a  sculptor. 
You  see  works  in  every  degree  and  stage  of 
completion.  Here  is  a  block  of  marble 
where  you  can  see,  just  hinted  at,  some  form 
of  man.  Here  is  one  where  the  form  has 
half  emerged.  Here,  one  that  as  yet  is  only 
pitted  and  disfigured  by  the  master's  blows. 
Here,  at  last,  you  reach  the  perfect  triumph 
of  his  skill.  It  stands  light,  graceful,  beau- 
tiful, instinct  with  a  life  higher  than  human. 
Do  you  doubt  in  which  work  the  master 
displays  himself?  Such  an  artist's  gallery  is 
the  world.  Now  the  spirit  is  buried  in  the 
sensual,  now  half  revealed  through  it.  Here 
it  stands  in  its  unveiled  splendor.  Do  you 
doubt  which  best  displays  the  spirit  and 
power  of  Him  who  is  all  in  all  ?  He  is  in 
all,  but  you  cannot  find  him  in  all.  You  do 
not  know  the  method  of  his  art.     You  do 


5o     THE   KNOWN   AND   THE 

not  understand  the  blows,  sharp  and  terrible 
often,  that  are  needed  to  evolve  beauty  out 
of  the  formless.  But  though  you  know  not 
the  method  of  his  art,  you  recognize  its  end, 
and  you  recognize  the  master  in  this  end. 

But  God  does  not  manifest  himself  out- 
side of  us  alone,  but  within  us  also.  His 
life  is  in  us,  and  in  him  we  live.  Our  spirit 
somehow  answers  to  his  spirit.  The  deeps 
of  our  being  answer  to  the  deeps  of  his,  as 
the  waters  of  the  sheltered  bay  feel  the  draw- 
ings of  the  tidal  flow  of  the  ocean. 

Such  is  the  relation  between  mystery  and 
knowledge,  the  known  and  the  unknowable, 
in  religion.     We  need  them  both. 

We  need  the  sense  of  mystery  to  humble 
our  spirits,  and  to  awaken  them  by  its  mighty 
challenge.  We  need  the  simplicity  of  re- 
ligion to  be  the  light  and  comfort  and 
strength  of  our  lives ;  and  with  all  the  mys- 
tery let  us  never  forget  the  limitation  of  the 
mystery.  There  is  a  sense  in  which  love  is 
always  love,  and  right  is  always  right,  and 
reason  always  reason.  There  is  a  vast  for- 
mula of  love  that  will  take  in  the  love  of 
God  as  well  as  the  love  of  the  child.  We 
may  not  comprehend  this  love,  but  we  can 
recognize  it,  and  know  something  of  what  it 


UNKNOWABLE  IN  RELIGION    51 

is.  The  child  lies  in  its  mother's  arms.  It 
cannot  comprehend  the  source  and  strength 
and  compass  of  her  love.  Yet  it  recognizes 
that  love.  It  rests  in  it,  and  is  content.  In 
like  manner  may  we  rest  peaceful  and  con- 
tent, while  we  know  that  love  that  passeth 
knowledge. 


MYSTICISM 


MYSTICISM 

Herbert  Spencer  has  affirmed  that  the 
one  essential  principle  of  religion  is  the  sense 
of  mystery.  We  have  about  us  the  visi- 
ble world  of  things.  Each  of  these  things 
stands  in  definite  relations  with  the  things 
about  it.  These  relations  we  can  under- 
stand ;  or  at  least  we  can  put  them  into  form- 
ulas which  seem  clear  to  the  understanding. 
But  we  feel  that  behind  these  visible  things 
and  these  finite  relations  there  is  a  something 
which  we  cannot  see,  which  we  cannot  put 
into  formulas,  and  which,  thus,  we  cannot 
even  pretend  to  understand.  This  unknow- 
able something  is  a  power  present  in  all  things, 
manifesting  itself  in  all  things,  the  life  of  all 
things ;  but  though  it  is  always  manifesting 
itself,  it  can  never  make  itself  known  ;  though 
so  near  us,  it  can  never  be  grasped.  It  re- 
mains ever  the  infinite,  the  unknown.  The 
consciousness  of  the  reality  of  this  unknow- 
able power  is,  according  to  Spencer,  the  ele- 
ment peculiar  to  all  religions,  the  only  element 
that  may  properly  be  called  religious. 


56  MYSTICISM 

The  definition  of  religion,  as  given  by 
Herbert  Spencer,  tells  only  half  the  story. 
There  is  another  element  which  is  essential 
to  religion  and  which  is  common  to  all 
religions.  There  is  light  in  religion  as  well 
as  darkness.  If  God  dwells  in  the  darkness 
He  dwells  also  in  the  light,  and  the  dark- 
ness and  the  light  are  alike  filled  with  His 
presence.  I  refer,  however,  at  this  time  to 
the  position  of  Herbert  Spencer,  not  to  crit- 
icise it,  not  to  attempt  to  supply  its  de- 
ficiency, but  to  recognize  its  real  though 
partial  truth.  The  sense  of  mystery  is  not 
the  only  element  of  religion,  but  it  is  an 
essential  element  of  it ;  an  element  too  much 
lost  sight  of  in  these  days  of  brilliant,  though 
largely  superficial  thought.  The  religious 
world  owes  a  debt  of  gratitude  to  Herbert 
Spencer  for  bringing  back  to  its  conscious- 
ness so  forcibly  the  great  fact  of  this  essen- 
tial principle  of  mystery.  We  are  apt  to 
forget  that  much  as  we  need  to  know,  just 
so  much  do  we  need  to  feel  the  presence  of 
the  unknowable.  We  are  apt  to  look  upon 
the  mountain  of  truth  only  as  a  ledge  to 
be  quarried.  We  are  so  busied  with  our 
machinery  of  one  sort  and  another  for  drill- 
ing  and  blowing,  for   raising   and   shaping 


MYSTICISM 


57 


and  carrying,  so  pleased  with  the  smoothly 
hammered  blocks  which  attest  our  labor 
and  our  skill,  that  we  forget  to  look  up  at 
the  sublime  vastness  of  the  mountain,  at  its 
precipitous  sides,  at  the  clouds  which  veil 
forever  its  snowy  and  inaccessible  summit. 
And  yet  the  mountain  in  its  wholeness  may 
be  more  helpful  to  us  than  in  its  fragments. 
All  the  architecture  in  which  these  fragments 
may  be  embodied  are  puny  in  comparison 
with  it.  All  the  physical  luxury  to  which 
they  may  minister  is  as  nothing  compared 
with  the  vigor  which  the  sense  of  its  sub- 
limity may  bring  to  the  spirit.  So,  also, 
our  square-hewn  truths,  however  fair,  how- 
ever wonderful,  are  as  nothing  to  the  infini- 
tude of  truth.  The  spirit  of  man  needs  to 
feel  its  strength.  It  is  well  that  among  the 
finite  things  about  it,  it  should  feel  strong, 
proud,  and  defiant ;  that  it  should  come  to 
the  world  as  a  conqueror  to  his  realm ;  but 
it  is  well  also  that  it  should  feel  the  presence 
of  a  mightier  than  it.  There  are  minds  to 
which  the  sense  even  of  the  sublimities  of 
earth  would  be  a  salvation.  Nowhere  does 
the  spirit  show  its  greatness  more  than  in 
the  sense  of  awe,  in  the  presence  of  the 
infinitudes  of  life  and  thought,  and  nowhere 


58  MYSTICISM 

does  it  gain  greater  strength  than  in  such 
contemplation.  Religion  has  at  all  times, 
and  among  all  nations,  recognized  this  ele- 
ment of  the  unknowable.  "  They  best 
know  Thee  who  confess  that  they  do  not 
know  Thee,"  cried  the  Hindoo ;  "  Canst 
thou  know  the  Almighty  to  perfection  ? " 
exclaimed  the  Hebrew.  And  thus,  wherever 
there  has  been  a  religion  worthy  of  the  name, 
there  has  been  this  solemn  gladness,  this 
bowed  exaltation,  this  mighty  helplessness, 
this  blending  of  the  deepest  and  loftiest  of 
man's  nature,  which  comes  from  the  sense 
of  knowing  that  which  passes  knowledge. 

While  religion  has  thus  openly  and  tri- 
umphantly recognized  the  element  of  mys- 
tery as  essential  to  its  existence,  it  has,  I 
believe,  covertly,  recognized  the  same  thing 
in  its  ceremonies  and  creeds.  I  cannot  un- 
derstand how  else  many  of  these  extrava- 
gant and  sometimes  even  absurd  forms 
and  formulas  should  have  taken  such  a 
hold  upon  the  hearts  of  men.  Take,  for 
instance,  some  of  the  peculiarities  of  the 
Roman  Catholic  service.  It  seems  some- 
times absurd  to  see  an  ignorant  worshipper 
taking  part  in  a  service  conducted  in  a  lan- 
guage which  he  cannot  understand.     A  poor 


MYSTICISM  59 

Irish  girl,  for  instance,  worships  through  the 
Latin  tongue.  At  least,  however,  she  feels 
herself  in  the  presence  of  a  mystery  behind 
which  is  the  Divine ;  and  if  we  take  even 
the  loftiest  terms  that  we  use  in  our  English 
prayers,  with  realistic  literalness,  if  we  regard 
them  as  simply  and  wholly  true,  perhaps  our 
worship  may  be  more  imperfect  than  hers. 
A  divinity  that  could  be  wrapt  in  any  terms 
however  fair  and  sweet  would  be  a  living 
divinity  no  longer.  So  also  the  dimness  of 
the  Mediaeval  church,  its  wondrous  music 
with  its  heights  of  joy  and  abysmal  depths 
of  sorrow,  its  architecture  with  its  soaring 
arches  and  its  gloomy  crypts,  all  combined 
to  force  home  this  sense  of  mystery  upon 
the  soul.  The  creeds  of  the  Mediaeval 
church  bringing  together  opposites  in  the 
same  breath,  setting  at  defiance  the  most 
fundamental  laws  of  thought  and  reason,  at 
least  brought  men  into  the  presence  of  the 
unknown,  and  were  doubtless  helpful  in  this 
respect.  I  have  spoken  thus  of  the  Mediaeval 
church,  but  all  religions  have  had  their  mys- 
teries. The  mysteries  of  the  Greek  must  have 
brought  a  healthful  spirit  of  awe  and  rever- 
ence into  the  midst  of  much  that  was  super- 
ficial and  frivolous  in  the  Greek  culture. 


60  MYSTICISM 

It  would  be  interesting  to  consider  the 
nature  and  the  limit  of  this  element  of  mys- 
tery that  underlies  all  religion,  to  examine 
the  forms  under  which  it  confronts  us,  and 
the  light  that  comes  to  us  through  and 
around  them.  It  would  be  interesting  to 
consider  the  mystery  that  waits  upon  the 
finite  soul,  by  reason  of  its  very  finiteness, 
when  it  strives  to"  comprehend  the  infinite  ; 
or  to  examine  that  mystery  which  meets  us 
under  every  form  of  thought  when  we  strive 
to  reconcile  the  freedom  of  man  with  inevit- 
able and  invariable  law,  or  with  the  all- 
embracing  providence  of  God  ;  or  it  would 
be  interesting  to  drop  our  plummets  farther 
than  sight  could  reach,  down  into  the  dark 
depths  of  the  mystery  of  suffering  and  sin. 

My  object  in  this  essay  is,  however,  to 
consider  one  form  of  this  mystery  which 
underlies  all  others,  and  which,  so  far  as 
the  solution  is  possible,  gives  the  only  hint 
towards  the  solution  of  any  of  them.  I 
mean  that  form  of  mystery  which  is  in- 
volved in  what  is  called  mysticism. 

The  word  "  mysticism  "  is  often  used  in  a 
very  vague  manner.  At  first  it  is  probable 
that  it  had  no  very  definite  signification, 
except  as  it  referred  to  whatever  was  con- 


MYSTICISM  61 

nected  with  mystery  in  general,  or  with  the 
so-called  mysteries  of  religion  in  particular. 
But  as  the  nature  of  this  mystery  and  of 
these  mysteries  became  more  apparent,  as 
the  vital  element  of  all  began  to  manifest 
itself  more  distinctly  from  amid  the  hulls 
that  enveloped  it,  the  words  "  mystic  "  and 
"  mysticism  "  assumed  a  very  definite  mean- 
ing, and  this  meaning,  in  spite  of  much 
vague  and  careless  use,  still  belongs  to  them. 
The  word  "  mysticism,"  whenever  properly 
used,  refers  to  the  fact  that  all  lives,  how- 
ever distinct  they  may  appear,  however 
varied  may  be  their  conditions  and  their 
ends,  are  at  heart  one ;  that  they  are  the 
manifestations  of  a  common  element;  that 
they  all  open  into  this  common  element  and 
thus  into  one  another.  Merely  philosophi- 
cal mysticism  calls  this  common  element 
by  one  name  or  another  according  to  the 
nature  of  the  system.  Religious  mysticism 
finds  this  common  element  in  the  life  of 
God.  Mysticism,  then,  is  the  recognition 
of  the  universal  element  in  all  individual 
forms ;  religious  mysticism  finds  everywhere 
the  presence  and  power  of  the  divine  life. 

Mysticism  is  so  foreign  to  much  of  our 
modern   habit  of  thinking;  it  is  so  foreign 


62  MYSTICISM 

to  our  habits  of  life ;  it  is  so  foreign  to  that 
hard  individualism  which  both  our  thinking, 
and  our  living  tend  to  nourish,  that  it  may 
not  be  easy  for  all  to  enter  into  the  spirit 
of  it,  or  even  to  comprehend  its  meaning. 
Moreover  the  word  has  been  associated 
with  so  much  that  is  extravagant  and  absurd 
that  it  has  somewhat  fallen  into  disrepute. 
Those,  most  often,  have  been  known  as 
mystics  in  whom  mysticism  has  run  riot. 
But  in  spite  of  modern  atomism  and  individ- 
ualism, in  spite  of  former  extravagance  and 
fanaticism,  mysticism  expresses  the  pro- 
foundest  fact  of  our  being.  All  the  great- 
est thinkers  and  seers  of  the  world  have 
been  more  or  less  imbued  with  it.  Modern 
creed  makers  and  creed  holders  may  disown 
it;  but  the  religious  founders,  those  on 
whose  mighty  foundations  the  creed  makers 
rear  their  shapeless  and  unsubstantial  fabrics, 
wrought  from  the  intuition  and  the  inspira- 
tion of  the  mystical  view  of  life. 

However  distinct  our  little  individual  lives 
may  seem,  these  mighty  thinkers  and  seers 
have  perceived  that  they  had  a  common 
root  and  a  common  substance.  Within  and 
beneath  all  existences  there  is  the  being 
from  which  all  spring  and  in  which  they  all 


MYSTICISM  63 

exist.  We  ask  the  leaf,  Are  you  complete 
in  yourself?  and  the  leaf  answers,  No,  my 
life  is  in  the  branches.  We  ask  the  branch, 
and  the  branch  answers,  No,  my  life  is  in  the 
trunk.  We  ask  the  trunk,  and  it  answers, 
No,  my  life  is  in  the  root.  We  ask  the 
root,  and  it  answers,  No,  my  life  is  in  the 
trunk  and  the  branches  and  the  leaves ; 
keep  the  branches  stripped  of  leaves  and  I 
shall  die.  So  is  it  with  the  great  tree  of 
being.  Nothing  is  completely  and  merely 
individual.  All  are  expressions,  higher  and 
lower,  of  a  common  life. 

Illustrations  of  this  fact  may  be  found  in 
the  comparatively  superficial  relations  of  life 
in  those  realms  which  seem  intermediate 
between  the  body  and  the  mind.  The  rela- 
tions of  which  I  here  speak  are  those  which 
connect  one  life  with  another.  They  show 
a  relation  which  is  deeper  than  any  that  the 
senses  can  account  for,  and  thus  manifest  a 
direct  communication  between  one  life  and 
another.  We  see  this  in  the  great  pulses 
of  feeling  which  thrill  through  communities 
and  assemblies.  On  a  large  scale  we  see  it 
in  the  frenzy  of  a  nation,  a  state  of  things 
which  has  found  its  most  striking  exemplifi- 
cation in  the  history  of  France ;  on  a  smaller 


64  MYSTICISM 

scale  we  see  it  in  the  enthusiasm  or  excite- 
ment of  any  crowd.  There  are  occasions 
in  which  the  calmest  and  most  balanced 
mind  is  drawn  into  the  common  whirl  and 
tumult  of  feeling,  not  from  anything  that 
has  been  said  or  done,  but  because  the  depths 
of  the  spirit  are  stirred  by  the  mighty  move- 
ments in  the  life  about  it.  Such  a  common 
movement  may  be  found,  for  instance,  in 
the  enthusiasm  of  the  camp-meeting,  which 
becomes  filled  with  a  common  terror  or 
a  common  fervor ;  and  in  the  rout  of  some 
great  army  when  a  strange  and  inexplicable 
panic  spreads  from  heart  to  heart.  Such 
mighty  stirrings  of  the  common  life  suggest 
to  us  the  movements  of  the  sea.  The  fury 
of  the  waves  is  felt  in  every  cove  and  inlet, 
however  sheltered,  that  has  a  communication 
open  with  the  ocean.  When  a  great  tidal 
wave  sweeps  over  the  sea  the  whole  line 
of  coast  feels  its  power,  and  all  the  rivers 
that  pour  into  it  heave  and  swell  with  its 
influx.  So  do  lives  thrill  and  stir  with 
the  convulsions  of  the  common  life  about 
them. 

We  find  examples  of  this  direct  relation 
between  life  and  life  in  individuals  as  well  as 
in  masses.     There  are  spiritual   harmonies 


MYSTICISM  65 

and  discords  from  which  result  much  of  the 
happiness  or  unhappiness  of  life. 

There  are  individuals  who  possess  what 
is  called  magnetism.  They  attract  or  move 
or  govern,  we  can  hardly  tell  why.  We 
can  see  that  this  is  not  mere  association  with 
the  past  history  of  such  persons,  that  the 
effect  does  not  arise  merely  because  it  is 
expected  to  arise,  by  the  fact  that  animals 
are  frequently  affected  in  a  similar  way. 
They  become  submissive  to  one  whose 
nature  possesses  this  element ;  they  wait 
upon  his  movements,  they  seem  to  live  for 
him. 

We  see  further  illustrations  of  this  inner 
relation  between  life  and  life  in  the  com- 
munication that  seems  sometimes  to  flow 
from  one  life  to  another,  in  the  case  of 
friends  closely  bound  together.  Especially 
does  this  occur  in  the  case  of  the  death  of 
one.  Cases  of  this  kind  are  so  common 
that  the  German  language  has  set  apart  a 
word  to  stand  for  this  sort  of  communica- 
tion. Sometimes  the  living  friend  appears 
to  see  the  form  of  the  one  who  has  just  died, 
sometimes  the  effect  is  less  striking  though 
not  less  real.  This  sort  of  connection  be- 
tween one  life  and  another  reaches  its  climax 
5 


66  MYSTICISM 

in  what  is  known  as  animal  magnetism.  In 
this  the  independent  will  and  consciousness 
of  the  one  is  entirely  given  up.  The  whole 
nature  is  taken  possession  of  by  another. 
The  will,  the  thought,  the  emotions,  and 
the  sensations  of  the  one  depend  upon  the 
will  of  the  other.  In  the  same  category 
stand  the  phenomena  of  spiritualism.  What- 
ever view  we  may  take  of  the  reality  of  the 
claims  to  spiritual  manifestations,  this  at  least 
would  appear  to  be  true,  that  the  life  of 
the  medium  is  invaded  by  some  external 
personality,  whether  this  external  personal- 
ity be  that  of  an  embodied  or  disembodied 
spirit. 

One  of  the  strangest,  we  might  even  say 
the  most  inexplicable  exhibitions  of  this  hid- 
den interlacing  of  life  with  its  surroundings, 
is  found  in  that  foreshadowing  which  is 
sometimes  felt  of  the  future.  This  yields 
itself  to  our  comprehension  far  less  than 
the  other  phenomena  to  which  I  have  re- 
ferred, because  it  appears  to  regard  the  future 
as  already  existing,  at  least  as  fixed.  Per- 
haps we  may  find  an  example  of  this  in  the 
history  of  our  martyred  president,  Abraham 
Lincoln.  In  Lamon's  "  Life  of  Lincoln,"  a 
book  which  with    all   its   faults  is   one  of 


MYSTICISM  67 

almost  unparalleled  interest,  showing  as  it 
does,  in  all  its  details,  the  growth  of  one  of 
the  noblest,  purest,  and  strongest  natures  of 
which  we  have  record,  out  of  circumstances 
which  would  seem  to  render  such  a  devel- 
opment impossible,  —  in  this  marvellous 
story  of  a  true  life,  we  are  told  that  for  years 
Lincoln  was  haunted  by  an  impression  that 
he  was  set  apart  for  the  execution  of  some 
great  work,  and  that  he  should  fall  in  the 
accomplishment  of  it.  This  impression  cast 
a  shadow  over  his  life  which  he  could  not 
shake  off.  Of  course  this  impression  may 
have  been  the  result  of  his  ambition  united 
with  his  temperament.  But  when  we  con- 
sider on  the  one  side  the  morbid  and  some- 
what abnormal  elements  of  his  nature,  and, 
on  the  other,  the  exceptional  work  to  which 
he  was  summoned  and  the  no  less  excep- 
tional end  which  was  to  befall  it,  it  does  not 
seem  strange  that  this  nature  should  have 
felt  some  foregleams  of  the  glory  and  some 
foreshadowings  of  the  gloom.  When  I 
think  of  this  strong  and  patient,  this  tender 
and  heroic  soul,  pressing  on  its  serene 
course,  unsoiled  by  pollution,  never  misled 
by  the  sophistries  of  legal  chicanery  or  polit- 
ical corruption,  never  led  a  step  beyond  the 


68  MYSTICISM 

true  path  by  its  mighty  ambition,  never 
sinking  beneath  its  burdens,  never  shrink- 
ing from  peril,  seeing  ever  before  it  vaguely 
in  the  darkness  alike  the  glory  and  the  ter- 
ror, it  seems  to  me  one  of  the  sublimest 
figures  of  history. 

Of  course  I  know  that  the  whole  class  of 
facts  to  which  I  have  referred  are  denied  by 
some ;  of  course,  too,  any  individual  case 
may  be  doubtful ;  yet  I  believe  that  this 
class  of  phenomena  is  accepted  by  the  un- 
prejudiced among  thinking  men,  by  those 
who  do  not  let  theory  exclude  fact. 

The  class  of  facts  to  which  I  have  re- 
ferred stand  in  a  somewhat  superficial  rela- 
tion to  our  theme,  to  which,  however,  they 
may  well  serve  to  introduce  us.  I  have 
tarried  among  these  outlying  facts  so  long, 
because  there  are  some  to  whom  an  intro- 
duction to  the  theme,  the  being  brought 
into  its  sphere,  so  as  to  feel  the  reality 
and  the  power  of  it,  is  more  difficult  and 
important  than  the   elaboration  of  it. 

Deeper  than  that  class  of  facts  to  which 
I  have  alluded,  lies  the  sense  of  sympathy 
with  the  lives  and  actions  of  others,  how- 
ever far  we  may  be  from  the  ability  to  repro- 
duce  them.      This   relation    Emerson    has 


MYSTICISM  69 

happily  expressed  in  the  opening  paragraph 
of  his  essay  on  history.  Though  the  words 
are  fortunately  familiar,  they  are  so  apt  to 
our  present  needs  that  I  will  quote  them : 
"There  is  one  mind,  common  to  all  in- 
dividual men.  Every  man  is  an  inlet  to 
the  same  and  to  all  of  the  same.  He  that 
is  once  admitted  to  the  right  of  reason  is 
made  a  freeman  of  the  whole  estate.  What 
Plato  has  thought  he  may  think ;  what  a 
saint  has  felt,  he  may  feel ;  what  at  any 
time  has  befallen  any  man,  he  can  under- 
stand. Who  hath  access  to  this  universal 
mind  is  a  party  to  all  that  is  or  can  be 
done,  for  this  is  the  only  and  sovereign 
agent." 

Somewhat  similar  to  this  is  the  sympa- 
thy that  we  feel  with  nature.  The  sense  of 
beauty  is  at  heart  a  sense  of  companionship. 
We  recognize  in  the  nature  about  us  a  life 
which  is  kindred  to  our  own.  We  rejoice 
to  be  wrapped  in  by  this  infinite  life  of 
nature.  The  early  peoples  have  loved  to 
speak  of  the  earth  as  their  mother.  From 
this  feeling  of  relationship  comes  the  sympa- 
thy which  we  have  with  the  outward  world. 
Sometimes  nature  reflects  our  mood.  She 
is  glad   or   sorrowful    according   as  we  are 


70  MYSTICISM 

glad  or  sorrowful.  Sometimes  she  takes  us 
up  into  her  lofty  moods.  Our  spirits  grow 
strong  with  her  strength,  tender  with  her 
tenderness,  calm  with  her  calmness.  What- 
ever form  the  effect  may  take  it  springs 
from  our  sense  of  unity  with  the  life  about 
us. 

Still  deeper  lies  the  metaphysical  and 
religious  sense  of  the  unity  of  all  being. 
This  is  the  principle  that  our  modern 
science  fancies  it  has  discovered  while  really 
it  is  the  principle  upon  which  science  itself 
rests,  and  of  which  the  scientific  formulas 
in  regard  to  the  uniformity  of  law  form 
only  a  partial  expression.  It  is  a  principle 
that  the  thought  of  man  has  always  taken 
for  granted,  and  which  finds  its  complete 
expression  alike  in  Greece  and  India,  coun- 
tries the  types  and  habits  of  whose  thought 
are  so  largely  antithetical  to  one  another. 
Philosophy  takes  it  for  granted.  The  relig- 
ious element  is  not  essential  to  it.  Schopen- 
hauer is  as  thorough  a  mystic  as  Madame 
Guyon.  Indeed,  some  of  the  fairest 
thoughts  of  Madame  Guyon  have  been 
transplanted  by  Schopenhauer  to  the  uncon- 
genial soil  of  his  system,  where  amid  the 
darkness  and  the  chill  they  seem  scarcely 


MYSTICISM  71 

less  at  home  than  beneath  the  warm  and 
sunny  heavens  that  before  smiled  about 
them.  It  is  indeed  difficult  to  draw  the 
exact  line  where  metaphysical  passes  into 
religious  mysticism.  Men  may  differ,  for 
instance,  as  to  the  side  of  the  line  on  which 
Spinoza  stands,  or  even  in  regard  to  the 
location  of  much  Hindoo  thought,  —  may 
doubt  as  to  whether  it  shall  be  called  meta- 
physical or  religious.  It  is,  however,  in 
the  sphere  of  religion  that  mysticism 
reaches  its  fairest  growth.  The  oriental 
religions  have  given  themselves  up  most 
thoroughly  to  this  principle.  Indeed,  it  is 
this  that  characterizes  the  central  period  in 
the  history  of  the  Brahmins,  while  it  is 
powerfully  manifested  both  in  the  earlier 
and  later  periods  of  this  history.  It  finds 
its  perfect  expression  in  this  Hindoo  prayer  : 
"  Thou  art  the  sacrifice,  the  prayer  of  obla- 
tion ;  the  sovereign  of  all  creatures  ;  Thou 
art  all  that  is  to  be  known  or  to  be  un- 
known ;  O  universal  soul,  the  whole  world 
consists  of  thee."  Among  the  Sufis,  whose 
type  of  religion  is  a  reaction  against  the 
hard  superficialness  of  Mohammedanism, 
mysticism  has  found  its  most  picturesque 
and  poetical  expression.     They  tell  us,  for 


72  MYSTICISM 

instance,  that  a  saint  knocked  at  the  door 
of  Paradise.  Who  is  there  ?  asked  the  Lord. 
It  is  I,  answered  the  saint.  But  the  gate 
remained  fast  closed  against  him.  Again  he 
drew  near  and  knocked,  and  when  the  Lord 
asked,  ^s  before,  Who  is  there  ?  the  saint, 
grown  wiser,  answered,  Lord,  it  is  Thou; 
and  the  gates  of  Paradise  flew  open  to  grant 
him  prompt  admittance. 

But  though  this  principle  is  associated  in 
our  minds  rather  with  the  religions  that  I 
have  named  than  with  Christianity,  yet  in 
Christianity  it  is  no  less  truly  present.  In 
Him  we  live,  and  move, and  have  our  being, 
cried  the  clear-headed,  active  Paul,  no  less  a 
mystic  than  the  contemplative  John.  All 
through  the  Christian  history  have  arisen 
souls  as  purely  mystical  in  feeling  and  in 
thought  as  any  to  be  found  under  warmer 
skies.  Their  type  of  religion  was  excep- 
tional in  Christianity  only  in  its  degree. 
The  pious  Fenelon  could  justify  his  mysti- 
cal piety  by  unanswerable  arguments  drawn 
from  the  church  fathers.  Indeed,  no  reli- 
gion that  has  any  soul  to  it  can  avoid  the 
touch  of  mysticism.  It  is  the  very  life  of 
religion.  Men  may  talk  of  an  external 
creation,  may  shut  up  each  soul  to  a  sharp 


MYSTICISM 


73 


and  separate  individuality,  may  set  off  the 
infinite  over  against  the  finite,  forgetting 
that  thereby  they  have  two  finites  and  no 
infinite.  But  then  comes  the  doctrine  of 
the  Holy  Spirit,  which  is  that  of  the  very 
indwelling  of  God  in  the  soul,  and  all  these 
finely  drawn  lines  disappear,  the  hard  dis- 
tinctions become  fluid  ;  men  become  par- 
takers of  the  divine  life,  and  God  is  all  and 
in  all.  Our  tenderest  hymns  are  full  of  a 
beautiful  mysticism.  Thus  we  sing  with 
Furness,  —  in  what  I  am  sometimes  tempted 
to  call  the  sweetest  of  hymns,  — 

"  What  is  it  ?  and  whither,  whence, 
This  unsleeping,  secret  sense, 
Longing  for  its  rest  and  food 
In  some  hidden,  unknown  good  ? 

"  'T  is  the  soul  —  mysterious  name  ; 
Him  it  seeks  from  whom  it  came : 
While  I  muse  I  feel  the  fire 
Burning  on  and  mounting  higher. 

"  Onward,  upward  to  thy  throne, 
O  thou  Infinite,  Unknown ! 
Still  it  presseth,  till  it  see 
Thee  in  all,  and  all  in  Thee." 

Mysticism  is  Protean  in  its  shapes.     It 
possesses  the  key  to  all  forms  and  all  creeds. 


74  MYSTICISM 

The  smallest  cell  opens  into  God's  infini- 
tude. The  harshest  dogmas  assume  a  ten- 
derness, the  most  varied  rites  a  meaning  for 
it.  The  mystic  can  take  the  sacred  wafer 
on  his  lips  finding  in  it  the  real  presence 
of  God,  for  is  not  God  in  all  things  ?  He 
can  affirm  the  absolute  divinity  of  Christ, 
for  is  not  all  life  divine,  the  highest  and 
fullest  the  most  divine?  He  can  affirm  the 
dogma  of  the  Trinity,  for  does  not  this  fur- 
nish the  formula  that  includes  all  the  deep 
and  vast  relations  of  the  universe  ?  On  the 
other  hand,  the  mystic,  for  like  reasons,  may 
disown  all  forms  and  cast  off  all  creeds. 
Out  of  such  mysticism,  pure  and  tender, 
sprang  the  sect  of  the  Friends.  He  may 
justify  to  himself  at  least  the  most  extreme 
and  solitary  individualism  ;  for  am  not  I, 
the  soul  may  ask,  one  of  the  manifestations 
of  the  eternal  mind?  If  I  have  access  to 
the  eternal  mind  what  do  I  need  of  other 
help  and  guidance  ? 

Not  only  does  mysticism  thus  hold  in 
solution  the  forms  of  religion  ;  it  brings  to 
the  mysteries  of  religion  a  solution,  so  far  as 
any  solution  is  possible.  At  least  it  absorbs 
all  other  mysteries  into  itself. 

Nothing  has  taxed  the  thought  of  men 


MYSTICISM 


75 


more  than  the  relation  between  God's  sov- 
ereignty and  man's  free  will.  If  man  is  free 
how  is  it  possible  that  the  will  of  God 
should  be  absolute  in  the  moral  no  less  than 
in  the  physical  world  ?  But  if  the  life  of 
man  is  born  out  of  the  life  of  God,  if  so  far 
as  man  truly  lives  he  lives  in  God  and  God 
lives  in  him,  then  when  man  comes  to  him- 
self, when  he  lives  his  true  life,  his  will  is 
one  with  the  will  of  God.  The  will  of  God 
does  not  act  upon  him  from  without,  sub- 
duing him  by  external  force.  It  acts  from 
within.     It  is  indeed  his  own  truest  life. 

Sin  is  the  blackest  mystery  of  the  uni- 
verse. We  cannot  understand  how  it  should 
have  a  place  in  the  universe  of  God.  Mys- 
ticism teaches  us  that  there  is  but  one  life, 
and  that  is  the  divine  life.  Sin  is  the 
absence  of  this  life.  It  thus  is  death.  If 
we  should  mark  the  presence  of  this  life  by 
light,  the  perfect  man  would  be  wholly 
luminous,  showing  that  every  part  is  living; 
the  worst  man  would  be  seen  to  have  only 
a  few  intermittent  sparks  of  brightness  at 
the  heart  of  his  being.  Sin  is  nothing  but 
the  absence  of  life,  and  that  is  the  absence 
of  everything.  With  all  its  parade  of  pride 
and  pomp,  sin  is  thus  seen  in  its  nothing- 


y6  MYSTICISM 

ness.  The  leaf,  as  we  have  seen,  has  its  life 
only  in  the  tree.  When  in  the  autumn  it 
begins  to  loosen  its  hold  upon  the  tree,  it 
puts  on  the  greatest  appearance  of  glory. 
Its  gold  and  its  purple  fill  the  earth  with 
splendor.  We  rejoice  in  the  beauty,  but  we 
rejoice  with  a  sense  of  sadness  in  our  hearts, 
for  we  know  that  what  we  see  is  the  pomp 
and  glory  of  death.  Such  is  the  splendor 
that  springs  from  the  pride  and  selfishness 
of  the  world.  The  true  man  may,  in  his 
humility,  confront  them  with  calm  confi- 
dence. They  also  spring  from  the  separa- 
tion of  the  individual  from  the  universal 
life.  They  also  are  the  flaunting  glories 
of  death. 

So  also  does  mysticism  help  to  answer  the 
great  question  as  to  the  possibility  of  know- 
ing anything  of  God.  Some  thinkers,  as 
we  have  seen,  love  to  resolve  the  thought 
of  God  into  that  of  an  unknown  force.  But 
if  this  power  lives  in  us,  if  it  thinks  in  us, 
how  shall  we  not  have  some  revelation  of 
it  in  ourselves  ?  Indeed  why  should  we 
not  know  more  of  it  than  of  anything  be- 
sides ?  If  in  religion,  then,  we  find  the  dark- 
est mystery,  in  it  we  find  also  the  clearest 
light.     We  may  doubt  wholly  in  regard  to 


MYSTICISM  77 

the  nature  and  even  the  reality  of  the  things 
which  we  see  merely  from  the  outside ;  but 
of  that  life  that  lives  in  us,  that  is  the  life 
of  our  life,  how  can  we  wholly  doubt  ? 

Thus  does  mysticism  have  the  central, 
the  supreme  place  in  the  religious  thought 
and  life ;  but  owing  to  this  very  supremacy 
it  is  beset  with  perils.  From  this  source 
of  life  and  strength  and  knowledge  may 
spring  the  blackest  errors,  the  most  fan- 
tastic delusions. 

The  fundamental  errors  which  have  too 
often  marred  the  beauty  of  mysticism,  and 
which  have  made  the  very  word  so  often  a 
reproach,  are,  in  the  first  place,  the  belief, 
natural  enough  in  theory,  that  if  the  true 
life  be  life  in  God,  then  to  reach  this  true 
life  in  its  fulness  the  individual  life  must 
be  given  up.  The  life  must  flow  backward 
and  downward  to  become  one  with  its 
source.  Thus  in  all  nations  men  have 
sought  to  find  God  by  giving  up  all  rela- 
tion with  the  world,  by  shutting  up  the 
avenues  of  sense,  by  giving  up  feeling  and 
thought.  Thus  the  Hindoo  mystic  sits 
with  his  eyes  fixed  upon  a  single  point, 
with  measured  or  suspended  breath,  so  far 
as  possible  with  no  emotion  in  his  heart  and 


78  MYSTICISM 

no  thought  in  his  brain,  seeking  thus,  by- 
entering  into  perfect  inanity,  to  become  one 
with  God.  Christian  mystics  have  resorted 
to  like  measures,  and  marked  out  all  the 
steps  that  lead  to  the  state  which  is  at  once 
the  absence  and  the  fulness  of  life.  They 
have  not  seen  that  this  fulness  which  they 
seek  is  emptiness.  The  being  they  would 
share  is  the  negation  of  being.  By  this 
process  they  do  not  become  God,  they  be- 
come nothing.  It  is  as  if  the  bud,  know- 
ing that  its  life  is  in  the  life  of  the  parent 
tree,  should  seek  to  become  one  with  the 
tree  by  withering  and  shrinking,  and  letting 
its  life  ebb  back  into  the  common  life.  See- 
ing it,  we  should  not  say,  Behold  how  this 
bud  has  become  one  with  the  tree ;  we 
should  say,  The  bud  is  dead. 

Errors,  in  the  second  place,  somewhat 
different  from  the  one  I  have  named,  grow 
out  of  a  less  extreme  application  of  the 
same  theory.  Instead  of  giving  up  the  life 
of  thought  and  feeling,  the  mystic  gives  up 
the  control  of  thought  and  feeling.  What- 
ever comes  to  him,  apparently,  from  the 
depths  of  his  own  consciousness,  he  takes 
it  for  granted  comes  from  God.  The  exer- 
cise of  reason,  of  thought,  reference  to  the 


MYSTICISM  79 

results  of  other  minds,  would  mar  the  free- 
dom of  the  revelation  of  God.  The  favor- 
ite motto  of  the  mystic,  which  may  be 
applied  to  both  forms  that  I  have  named,  is 
this:  When  man  sleeps,  God  wakes.  He 
considers  himself  one  of  the  beloved  of 
God  to  whom  he  giveth  in  their  sleep.  But 
when  men  sleep,  answers  Hegel,  they  dream. 
Hence  in  the  writings  of  so  many  mystics 
we  have  by  the  side  of  thoughts  whose 
depth  and  beauty  thrill  us  with  an  inspira- 
tion of  fresh  life,  conceits  the  most  fantastic 
and  absurd,  multiplied  till  the  reading  be- 
comes a  weariness  and  a  disgust.  Such  men 
think  that  by  this  falling  back  into  the 
heart  of  things  they  can  understand  all  the 
phenomena  of  time  and  eternity ;  some  even 
have  believed  that  their  life  could  thus 
become  so  blended  with  the  common  life 
that  they  could  control  the  course  of  things 
by  a  word.  Thus  we  have  growing  out  of 
a  grand  and  fundamental  truth  all  the  ex- 
travagances of  Theosophy  and  Theurgy. 
In  a  more  superficial  and  modern  view  we 
have  abnormal  states  of  the  nervous  sys- 
tem, or  of  the  bodily  life,  prized  more 
highly  than  the  normal.  The  state  of  the 
mesmeric  or  other  trance  is  considered  by 


80  MYSTICISM 

some  higher  than  the  state  of  consciousness. 
Such  do  not  realize  that  this  is  a  falling  back 
and  down,  a  losing  of  the  real  individual 
life  in  the  indistinguishable  mass  of  being. 
The  individual  ceases  to  be  a  person  and  be- 
comes a  thing  acted  upon  by  wills  and  forces 
outside  of  itself.  I  do  not  say  that  such 
a  process  may  not,  like  that  of  sleep,  be 
sometimes  useful.  It  may  bring  to  light 
facts  in  our  nature  otherwise  unknowable. 
Like  sleep,  however,  it  is  not  an  exaltation, 
but  a  lowering  of  the  nature. 

If  the  life  of  man  is  born  out  of  the  life 
of  God,  if  the  divine  life  is  to  flow  into  and 
fill  out  the  human  life,  then  the  channels 
for  its  entrance  are  those  which  God  himself 
has  created ;  and  the  most  normal  life  is  the 
life  which  is  most  filled  with  his  presence. 
Very  refreshing  after  the  distorted  theories 
which  we  have  been  considering  sounds  the 
cry  of  John,  "  God  is  love,  and  he  that 
dwelleth  in  love  dwelleth  in  God,  and  God  in 
him  ;  "  and  that  of  Paul,  "  The  fruit  of  the 
spirit  is  love,  joy,  peace,  long-suffering,  gen- 
tleness, goodness,  faith."  This  is  the  true 
mysticism.  It  is  the  true  identification  of 
the  human  with  the  divine.  The  bud  is 
most  full  of  the  life  of  the  tree  when  it  swells 


MYSTICISM  8 1 

and  bursts  into  the  leaf  or  the  flower.  So 
man  is  most  full  of  the  life  of  God  when  his 
natural  powers  are  most  fully  developed. 
Not  when  he  sleeps  but  when  he  is  most 
awake  can  he  best  see  God.  The  form  of 
mysticism  we  first  considered  cries  that  God 
is;  it  does  not  say  what  he  is.  It  gives  us 
the  copula  without  the  predicate.  The  soul 
gives  up  also  its  predicates  and  sinks  back 
into  empty  abstraction  to  find  him.  The 
true  mysticism  adds  the  predicate.  It  tells 
what  God  is.  God  is  love,  and  he  that 
would  live  in  God  must  not  fall  back  but 
press  forward.  He  will  find  Him,  not  in 
emptiness  but  in  fulness.  The  life  of  God 
visits  the  soul  as  the  life  of  nature  pours 
itself  into  the  tree,  not  to  bring  into  it  any- 
thing strange,  but  to  fill. out  that  which  is 
natural  to  it.  The  fruit  of  the  spirit  is 
love,  and  joy,  and  peace,  the  simple,  natural 
flowering  and  fruitage  of  the  soul. 

I  and  my  Father  are  one,  said  Jesus  ; 
he  also  said :  My  Father  worketh  hitherto, 
and  I  work,  making  thus  his  union  with  the 
Father  to  consist,  not  in  passivity,  but  in 
activity.  Christianity,  thus,  while  preserving 
the  great  truth  of  mysticism,  disentangles  it 
from  the  perversions  which  have  too  often 
6 


82  MYSTICISM 

corrupted  it,  and  makes  of  it  the  incentive 
to  the  noblest  and  fullest  life. 

Thus  mysticism,  rightly  understood, 
would  increase  our  confidence  in  human 
nature  rather  than  destroy  it.  It  would 
increase  our  confidence  in  human  thought. 
It  would  teach  us  that  this  is  akin  to  the 
creative  thought  of  God.  He  that  should 
stop  thinking  in  order  to  find  the  truth, 
would  be  like  one  who  should  close  his  eyes 
that  he  might  see. 

But  thought  alone  is  partial  and  super- 
ficial. There  are  depths  in  the  nature  of 
man  which  thought  alone  can  bring  to  light, 
but  which  thought  has  only  just  begun  to 
sound.  There  are  forces  in  human  nature 
which  thought  must  accept  as  given.  There 
are  spiritual  growths  of  which  thought  can- 
not lay  bare  the  roots.  Certain  habits  and 
instincts  spring  out  of  experience.  The 
roots  lie  near  the  surface,  and  thought  can  un- 
cover them  and  show  their  place  and  nature. 
There  are  others  that  are  not  thus  rooted  in 
any  superficial  experience.  As  we  trace 
them  they  stretch  down  through  the  drift 
and  debris  of  our  past  lives.  They  are 
rooted  only  in  the  absolute  life.  They  are 
offshoots  from  the  life  of  God. 


MYSTICISM  83 

Of  this  nature  pre-eminently  is  the  moral 
sense.  I  will  dwell  at  some  little  length 
upon  the  aspect  of  our  theme,  on  account  of 
its  practical  importance ;  and  also  that  our 
theme  itself  may  be  seen  to  be  not  merely  a 
matter  of  dreamy  speculation,  but  bound  up 
in  the  most  momentous  issues  of  our  times. 
Kant  was  right  in  making  the  moral  sense 
pre-eminently  the  medium  by  which  the 
reality  of  the  divine  being  is  manifested  to 
us.  He  was  wrong  and  inconsequent  in 
denying  validity  to  the  other  fundamental 
elements  of  our  nature ;  but  the  moral  sense, 
the  practical  reason,  is  so  much  more  author- 
itative, so  much  more  clear  and  final  in  its 
utterances  than  the  rest,  it  brings  us  so  into 
the  presence  of  the  awfulness  and  sublimity, 
as  well  as  of  the  beauty  of  the  divine  holi- 
ness, that  we  can  forgive  him  that  the  sense 
of  it  obscured  everything  beside. 

Especially  can  we  forgive  him  in  the  days 
in  which  we  live,  in  which  the  grandeur  and 
authority  of  morality  are  to  such  an  extent 
lost  sight  of.  I  think  we  do  not  enough 
realize  the  terrible  pressure  against  which 
morality  has  to  contend  at  this  time.  We 
need  not  delay  to  speak  much  of  external 
causes   of  this  pressure,   though   these   are 


84  MYSTICISM 

very  powerful.  The  war,  in  spite  of  its 
high  purpose,  left  the  legacy  that  all  wars 
leave,  —  a  tendency  to  demoralization  and 
brutality.  Much  of  the  most  popular  and 
plausible  thought  of  the  age  tends  in  the 
same  direction.  I  will  not  here  discuss  nor 
question  the  truth  of  the  theory  that  human 
life  is  a  development  out  of  animal  life. 
Least  of  all  will  I  join  in  the  outcry  against 
it.  It  is  a  theory  which  is  compatible  with 
the  highest  faith  ;  which  may,  indeed,  intro- 
duce a  new  element  of  beauty  and  hopeful- 
ness into  our  faith.  But  however  readily 
we  may  accept  the  theory,  however  clearly 
we  may  see  the  high  applications  of  it,  it 
is  no  less  obvious  that  in  the  world  at  large 
the  first  impression  of  it,  the  superficial 
judgment  in  regard  to  it,  would  result  in 
a  lowering  of  the  dignity  of  human  nature. 
If  it  is  accepted  as  truth  by  the  scientific 
world  its  tendency  will  in  time  be  seen 
to  be  no  more  anti-spiritual  than  that  of 
the  fact  that  we  have  bodies  ;  but  it  will 
be  long  before  the  popular  mind  will  re- 
cover from  the  shock  of  it.  Its  tendency 
will  be  to  put  a  burden  upon  many  an 
upward  struggling  soul,  and  to  sink  deeper 
many   a  depraved    one.      It   will    seem   to 


MYSTICISM  85 

degrade   human  nature,  to  justify  its  bru- 
talization. 

This  crisis  is  one  that  cannot  and  could 
not  be  avoided ;  but  the  crisis  is  rendered 
more  perilous  to  appearance  from  the  fact 
that  the  same  process  of  thought  which 
brings  man  physically  nearer  to  the  brute 
seeks  to  separate  him  spiritually  from  the 
divine.  While  opening  a  gulf  below,  it 
seeks  to  unclasp  his  hold  upon  the  support 
above.  This  is  especially  seen  in  the  man- 
ner in  which  this  thought  makes  light  of,  or 
seeks  to  take  away  the  authority  of  the  moral 
sense.  Bain,  one  of  the  foremost  English 
writers  on  psychology  and  morality,  refers 
to  the  old  motto,  Fiat  justitia  mat  coelumy 
Let  justice  be  done  though  the  heavens 
should  fall,  only  to  stigmatize  it  as  the 
climax  of  sentimentalism.  It  is  indeed  a 
motto  which  utilitarianism  can  have  little 
place  for.  It  shows  that  to  whatever  extent 
utilitarianism  may  be  the  guide  of  morality, 
there  comes  at  last  a  point  where  the  two 
part  company.  It  is  a  motto  which  can  be 
used  fanatically  and  foolishly ;  but  yet  it  is  a 
motto  that  has  sustained  and  inspired  many 
a  noble  soul.  The  sentiment  it  expresses 
has,  in  one  and  another  form,  done  more  to 


86  MYSTICISM 

purify  the  moral  atmosphere,  to  keep  human 
life  strong  and  healthy,  and  society  sweet 
and  clean,  than  all  the  treatises  on  morality 
that  could  be  piled  together.  How  many 
a  man  has  it  sustained  in  the  performance 
of  an  act  of  justice  which  would  make  of  his 
fortunes  a  mere  wreck.  The  act  has  been 
done ;  his  little  heaven  has  fallen  ;  his  little 
world  has  collapsed.  He  has  found  indeed 
a  heaven  within.  The  sense  of  justice  done 
has  brought  its  own  satisfaction  to  his  soul ; 
but  if  justice  has  no  inner  authority,  no 
inner  life,  the  inner  heaven  would  have 
fallen  with  the  outer.  When  John  Stuart 
Mill  exclaimed  that  he  would  go  to  hell 
rather  than  call  that  just  in  God  which  would 
be  unjust  in  man,  what  was  that  but  a  new 
application  of  the  old  cry,  Let  justice  be 
done  though  heaven  should  fall?  Acting 
upon  this  principle  the  whole  human  race, 
the  whole  community  of  finite  spirits,  would 
leave  heaven  empty  rather  than  countenance 
injustice  though  it  might  be  called  divine. 
If  we  dismiss  the  heroic  motto  with  a  sneer, 
we  shall  find  that  not  only  our  sentimental- 
ism,  but  that  the  strength  of  our  manhood, 
has  gone  with  it. 

Bain  is  not  the  only  writer  whose  theoriz- 


MYSTICISM  87 

ing  tends  in  the  same  direction.  Herbert 
Spencer  seeks  to  solve  the  question  why 
men  have  attached  special  sanctity  to  the 
dictates  of  morality,  and  he  gives  as  reasons, 
in  effect,  the  selfish  maxims  of  society  and 
the  mistaken  assumptions  of  theology, 
repeated  so  often  through  countless  gener- 
ations as  to  produce  a  permanent  effect  on 
human  nature.  I  do  not  forget  that  he 
elsewhere  indicates  a  system  of  morality 
which  is  not  without  inspiration.  I  here 
consider  the  explanation  which  he  gives  of 
the  authority  of  morality  itself.  Now  any 
man  who  should  accept  this  explanation  as 
all-sufficient,  and  who  should  find  in  his  own 
nature  no  moral  principle  that  this  could 
not  account  for,  would,  I  believe,  hold  him- 
self free  from  any  responsibility  to  the  moral 
principle.  Schopenhauer  approached  the 
theme  in  the  same  manner  that  Spencer 
does.  He  states,  distinctly,  that  he  has  not 
to  ask  why  men  should  obey  the  moral  law, 
but  why  they  do  obey  it.  Schopenhauer 
was  an  atheist  and  a  pessimist;  but  at  the 
same  time  he  was  a  philosopher  and  a  mys- 
tic, and  because  he  was  a  mystic,  his  explana- 
tion of  the  moral  sense  is  such  that  if  you 
and  I   accepted  it,  even   though  we  could 


88  MYSTICISM 

find  within  ourselves  no  moral  instinct  which 
this  could  not  account  for,  the  principle 
of  morality  would  be  stronger  within  us 
than  it  was  before ;  because  we  should 
see  its  real  nature  more  clearly  than  we 
did  before. 

Darwin  also  attempts  the  explanation  of 
the  moral  sense  with  morality  left  out.  He 
explains  the  power  of  conscience  by  the 
simple  fact  of  the  prominence  of  the  social 
instincts  and  the  comparative  transientness 
of  the  selfish  impulses.  No  authority  is 
given  to  morality  except  the  greater  promi- 
nence of  the  instincts  on  which  it  is  based. 
But  the  truth  is  that  the  regal  dignity  of 
the  moral  law  is  never  more  strongly  felt 
than  when  it  confronts  the  selfish  impulses. 
Even  when  it  suffers  violence  at  their  hands, 
it  yet  receives  their  homage.  With  the  king 
in  Hamlet  ambition  was  as  permanent  as  the 
sense  of  justice.  Indeed  it  was  only  now 
and  then  that  the  voice  of  justice  made  itself 
heard  in  his  heart.  That  wonderful  solilo- 
quy of  his  shows  us  the  collision  between 
the  two  principles.  It  shows  us  the  king 
yielding  to  his  selfish  ambition,  but,  while 
doing  this,  feeling  himself  ashamed  in  the 
presence  of  the   divinity  of  justice.     Shak- 


MYSTICISM  89 

speare  knew  less  than  Darwin  does  about 
plants  and  animals,  but  he  knew  infinitely- 
more  about  human  nature  ;  and  this  single 
passage,  the  single  picture  of  this  — 

Limed  soul,  that  struggling  to  be  free 
Was  more  engaged, 

refutes  by  the  simplicity  of  truth  the  flimsy 
reasoning  of  the  naturalist. 

There  is  a  story,  happily  familiar,  that 
Theodore  Parker,  when  a  boy,  took  up  a 
stone  to  throw  at  a  tortoise  in  a  pond ;  but 
something  within  him  seemed  to  forbid  the 
act.  He  went  home  and  asked  his  mother 
what  this  something  was.  Suppose  she  had 
given  him  any  of  the  definitions  to  which 
I  have  just  referred.  Suppose  she  had  told 
him,  for  instance,  that  it  was  the  inherited 
effects  of  the  maxims  of  a  self-interested 
society  and  the  assumptions  of  presumptu- 
ous theologians.  It  was  a  turning  point  in 
Parker's  life.  I  think  that  if  his  mother 
had  told  him  this,  and  he  had  thoroughly 
believed  her,  the  next  tortoise  that  he  saw 
would  have  been  in  peril.  What  his  mother 
really  did  tell  him  was  this :  That  the  some- 
thing that  bade  him  hold  his  hand  was  what 
men  commonly  called  conscience ;  but  she 


9o  MYSTICISM 

preferred  to  call  it  the  voice  of  God  within 
him.  Parker  himself  tells  us  the  power  of 
these  words.  His  true  life  seemed  to  date 
from  them.  The  voice  of  conscience,  in- 
stead of  being  silenced  by  sophistry,  was 
recognized  and  listened  to  as  the  voice  of 
God.  His  conscience  thus  nurtured  became 
the  conscience  of  the  land. 

I  have  dwelt  upon  this  matter  that  we 
might  realize  the  odds  against  which  the 
moral  principle  has  to  contend  amid  the 
superficial  teaching  of  the  time.  Such  teach- 
ing is  not  shut  up  within  books  of  science 
that  are  sealed  to  the  common  thought. 
Such  theories  spread  more  rapidly  than  the 
books  which  contain  them,  and  their  effects 
extend  more  rapidly  than  they. 

I  make  here  no  complaint  against  the 
science  of  the  day.  It  is  doing  its  work 
bravely  and  well.  I  reverence  the  devotion 
of  its  students  and  rejoice  in  their  success. 
But  physical  science  has  to  do  with  only 
one  side  of  facts.  There  is  another  side 
which  is  recognized  by  religion.  Religion 
and  science  are  like  two  oarsmen  on  oppo- 
site sides  of  one  boat.  Science  is  pulling 
with  all  its  strength.  It  does  not  do  for 
religion  to  drop  its  oar  that  it  may  wave 


MYSTICISM  91 

applause  to  its  comrade.  Still  less  does  it 
do  for  it  to  wring  its  hands  and  cry  with 
terror  that  the  strokes  of  science  are  swing- 
ing the  boat's  head  out  of  its  course,  that 
it  will  be  dashed  against  the  rocks  or  swept 
far  out  into  the  open  sea.  Rather  let  reli- 
gion do  what  science  is  doing.  Let  it 
also  bend  itself  to  the  oar.  While  it  re- 
joices in  the  strength  of  its  comrade's 
stroke,  let  it  make  its  stroke  as  strong, 
and  the  boat  will  shoot  along  in  its  course 
with  a  speed  that  it  has  never  reached 
before. 

In  other  words,  religion  should  emphasize 
the  spiritual  facts  of  life,  just  as  science 
emphasizes  the  physical  facts  of  life.  While 
science  shows  the  relation  of  man  to  the 
brute,  religion  should  show  his  relation- 
ship with  God.  This  is  to  be  done,  not 
by  fulminations  and  anathemas,  not  by 
ecclesiasticisms  and  external  authority ;  but 
by  making  men  feel  the  power  of  God 
within  them ;  by  bringing  into  conscious- 
ness what  I  have  called  the  mystical  ele- 
ment of  life. 

Mysticism  and  physical  science  recognize 
the  opposite  poles  of  being.  We  need  not 
wait,  then,  for  physical  science  to  come  to  its 


92  MYSTICISM 

aid.  Physical  science  has  to  do  with  points, 
with  atoms ;  mysticism  has  to  do  with 
wholes.  The  results  of  mysticism,  physical 
science  calls  unthinkable ;  but  they  are  the 
staple  of  our  thoughts.  Physical  science 
boasts  of  the  clearness  of  her  results ;  but 
these  results,  without  the  aid  of  mysticism, 
are  unthinkable.  Physical  science  can  see 
in  each  man  only  a  congeries  of  atoms 
mingled  in  a  mazy  dance.  Can  you  think 
of  yourself  as  simply  a  figure  in  the  dance 
of  atoms  ?  Can  you  think  of  the  friend 
you  love  the  most  as  such  a  whirl  of  atoms, 
a  whirl  closer  and  more  intricate  than  that 
of  the  sand-column  that  sweeps  across  the 
desert,  the  material  more  pliant,  but  the 
nature  of  the  two  being  otherwise  alike  ? 
The  only  element  of  thought  from  which 
we  never  can  escape  is  personality.  If  phys- 
ical science  fails  to  give  us  this  we  see  that 
it  needs  its  complement,  if  only  that  its  own 
results  may  be  thinkable.  The  recognition 
of  personality,  of  the  unity  in  the  midst  of 
the  variety  of  physical  elements,  is  the  begin- 
ning of  mysticism  ;  its  culmination  is  the 
recognition  of  a  like  unity  amid  all  the 
variety  of  the  universe,  the  infinite  person- 
ality, of  which  we  are  a  part,  but  which  yet 


MYSTICISM  93 

is  distinct  from  us  and  from  which  we  are 
distinct;  from  which  and  in  which  is  our 
only  life ;  to  which  we  must  return,  not  by 
the  mere  absorption  of  being,  but  by  the 
higher  absorption  of  a  joyful  love. 


JOSEPH   PRIESTLEY 


JOSEPH    PRIESTLEY 

THE   OLD   UNITARIANISM   AND 
THE  NEW 

The  memory  of  Joseph  Priestley  has  re- 
ceived distinguished  recognition.  At  his 
death,  most,  if  not  all,  of  the  learned  acade- 
mies of  Europe  paid  honor  to  the  service 
that  he  had  rendered  in  the  advancement  of 
science.  In  Paris,  it  was  Baron  Cuvier  who 
pronounced  his  eulogy.  In  1 874,  on  the  cen- 
tennial of  his  most  important  discovery,  a 
statue  was  raised  to  his  memory  in  Birming- 
ham, the  city  from  which  in  his  lifetime  he 
had  been  driven  by  a  mob.  At  the  unveil- 
ing of  this  monument,  Professor  Huxley 
pronounced  the  oration.  In  all  these  cases, 
Priestley  was  honored  simply  as  a  man  of 
science.  Baron  Cuvier,  indeed,  spoke  with  a 
certain  horror  of  the  boldness  of  his  theologi- 
cal speculations.  Professor  Huxley  properly 
recognized  the  fact  that,  in  the  commemora- 
tion in  which  he  bore  a  part,  the  theological 
work  of  Priestley  had  no  place.  He  did, 
however,  refer  in  noble  words  to  one  aspect 
7 


98  JOSEPH    PRIESTLEY 

of  his  position  in  the  religious  world.  "  His 
statue,"  he  said,  "  will  do  as  good  service  as 
the  brazen  image  that  was  set  upon  a  pole 
before  the  Israelites,  if  those  who  have  been 
bitten  by  the  fiery  serpents  of  sectarian 
hatred,  which  still  haunt  this  wilderness  of  a 
world,  are  made  whole  by  looking  upon  the 
image  of  a  heretic  who  was  yet  saint." 

While  the  interest  which  Priestley  took  in 
scientific  investigation  was  great,  and  while 
he  pursued  the  path  of  discovery  with  hearty 
enthusiasm,  yet  his  best  love  was  given  to 
religion.  He  valued,  as  he  tells  us,  his  suc- 
cess in  the  field  of  science  chiefly  because  it 
won  for  him  a  wider  hearing  as  a  Christian 
teacher.  Here,  to-day,  so  far  as  I  am  aware, 
for  the  first  time,  the  memory  of  Priestley 
is  honored  in  a  way  which  recognizes  the 
various  activities  of  his  life  as  he  estimated 
them,  which  sees  his  life  in  the  perspective 
according  to  which  he  viewed  it.  We  honoT 
him  as  one  who  helped  to  prepare  the  way 
for  the  new  science.  We  honor  him  as 
one  who  worked  for  human  freedom  and 
rejoiced  in  every  indication  of  the  coming 
of  a  larger  life  for  man.  But  we  honor- 
him  to-day,  chiefly,  as  one  of  the  founders 
of  modern  Unitarianism  in  England  and  in 


JOSEPH    PRIESTLEY  99 

this  country  and  city.  I  do  not  know  that 
his  modest  spirit  would  not  have  shrunk 
from  the  thought  of  any  commemoration  by 
statue  and  eulogy  ;  but,  if  he  would  accept 
any  such  tribute  to  his  memory,  I  am  sure 
that  what  we  offer  to  it  here  to-day  would  be 
the  most  precious  to  him. 

The  story  of  Priestley's  life  has  been  so 
recently  and  so  well  told  in  this  place  that  I 
have  no  excuse  for  dwelling  on  the  attrac- 
tive theme.  I  should,  however,  be  false  to 
the  occasion  if  I  did  not  say  a  few  words  in 
regard  to  his  character  and  his  work. 

The  mind  of  Priestley  was  active,  sincere, 
and  transparent.  As  a  worker,  he  was  inde- 
fatigable. He  was  happy  in  the  time  when 
he  lived.  It  was  a  time  when  men  were  just 
beginning  to  feel  the  special  intellectual  life 
which  has  marked  these  later  years.  The 
intellectual  field  was,  however,  as  yet  so 
narrow  that  one  mind  could  be  familiar  with 
it  all.  It  was  a  time  when  Goethe  could  be 
the  first  poet  and  the  first  man  of  letters  of 
the  world,  and  could  at  the  same  time  make 
positive  contributions  to  science.  Thus  it 
was  that  Priestley  could  do  important  and 
original  work  in  various  lines  of  thought. 
In  science,  in  political  economy,  in  history, 


ioo         JOSEPH    PRIESTLEY 

in  exegesis,  in  theology,  he  made  his  power 
felt.  Dr.  Martineau  has  said  that  a  list  of 
his  works  reads  like  the  prospectus  of  an 
encyclopaedia.  Every  circumstance  of  his 
life  set  his  active  brain  to  some  new  task. 
If  he  was  teaching,  forthwith  treatises  on 
grammar  and  plans  of  history  flowed  from 
his  pen.  If  he  lived  by  the  side  of  a 
brewery,  he  was  roused  to  the  investigation 
of  gases.  An  acquaintance  with  Franklin 
moved  him  to  undertake  a  history  of  the 
discoveries  in  electricity  which  threatened 
to  expand  into  a  history  of  all  science. 

The  world  about  him  was  as  fresh  as  his 
eager  intellect.  Investigation  in  any  serious 
sense  seemed  just  beginning.  Now,  when 
for  so  many  years  the  microscope,  the  retort, 
the  telescope,  the  prism,  and,  most  character- 
istic of  all,  the  balance,  have  been  steadily 
and  systematically  applied  to  every  portion 
of  our  environment,  the  work  of  the  scientist 
is  very  different.  Now  one  who  is  to  be  a 
discoverer  must  take  his  specialty.  He  must 
carefully  study,  so  far  as  he  can,  the  minute 
work  of  his  predecessors  in  some  special  line 
of  research.  Only  when  all  this  has  been 
accomplished  can  he,  for  the  most  part,  hope 
to  attain  original  results.     In  California,  in 


JOSEPH    PRIESTLEY         101 

the  earlier  days,  gold,  we  are  told,  could  be 
had  for  the  stooping.  Now  what  apparatus 
and  what  systematic  toil  are  needed,  if  the 
precious  metal  is  to  be  secured  !  So  far  as 
the  riches  of  science  are  concerned,  Priestley 
lived,  we  might  almost  say,  at  the  time 
when  gold  was  to  be  had  for  the  stooping. 
This,  however,  must  not  be  taken  too  liter- 
ally. I  suppose  as  much  mental  power  was 
needed  to  be  an  original  worker  then  as  now, 
only  there  was  needed  less  training  and  less 
equipment.  Thus  one  could  pass  from  one 
department  to  another  in  the  intellectual 
world,  and  do  original  work  in  each. 

Priestley  used  to  the  full  the  opportuni- 
ties which  this  condition  of  the  intellectual 
world  gave  him.  His  literary  work  was 
simply  immense.  At  one  time,  at  the 
height  of  his  unpopularity,  at  a  gathering 
of  clergymen,  one  exclaimed  that  he  should 
like  to  see  Priestley  mounted  on  a  pile  of 
his  own  works,  and  that  he  would  gladly  set 
fire  to  the  whole.  The  grotesque  humor  of 
the  idea  takes  something  from  its  brutality, 
though  Priestley,  in  whom  the  sense  of 
humor  would  seem  to  have  been  only 
slightly,  if  at  all,  developed,  saw  only  the 
grimness  of  the  jest.     There  are  few  men 


102         JOSEPH   PRIESTLEY 

whose  works  are  sufficiently  numerous  to 
suggest  the  idea  that  they  would  serve  for 
the  funeral  pile  of  their  author.  What  was 
published  would  seem  to  have  been  only  a 
small  part  of  what  was  written.  At  the 
time  of  the  destruction  of  Priestley's  house, 
it  is  said  that  the  mob  waded  knee-deep  in 
the  fragments  of  torn  manuscript. 

In  all  his  work,  Priestley  was  actuated 
by  the  simplest  love  of  truth.  It  never  oc- 
curred to  him  to  conceal  any  conviction  that 
he  had.  He  seemed  to  like  to  put  his  views 
in  the  most  offensive  form,  though  probably 
he  did  this  simply  because  it  was  the  most 
natural  way  of  utterance.  He  boldly  pro- 
claimed himself  a  materialist  and  a  neces- 
sarian, though,  so  far  at  least  as  one  of 
these  terms  is  concerned,  a  less  objection- 
able word  would  have  defined  his  position 
just  as  well. 

When  he  came  to  America,  his  sense  of 
loyalty  to  the  country  in  which,  as  he  once 
said,  he  had  found  "  neither  protection  nor 
redress,"  was  so  great  that  he  would  not 
become  naturalized.  He  remained  what 
was  known  as  "  an  alien,"  and,  in  the  ex- 
cited state  of  feeling  of  the  time,  was  ex- 
posed to  some   suspicion   and    hostility  on 


JOSEPH    PRIESTLEY         103 

that  account.  But,  though  he  made  many 
enemies,  he  made  many  friends  also.  In- 
deed, the  devotion  of  his  friends  is  the 
strongest  testimony  to  the  nobility  of  his 
character.  During  his  whole  career,  money 
was  collected,  without  any  impulse  from 
him,  to  enable  him  to  bear  the  expense  of 
his  experiments.  Toplady,  whose  hymns 
have  shown  what  tender  warmth  could  glow 
in  the  heart  of  the  sternest  theology,  in  a 
letter  to  him,  filled  for  the  most  part  with 
sharp  argumentation,  exclaims  :  "  Give  me 
the  person  whom  I  can  hold  up,  as  I  can  a 
piece  of  crystal,  and  see  through  him.  For 
this,  among  many  other  excellences,  I  regard 
and  admire  Dr.  Priestley.,,  And  Franklin, 
writing  to  Priestley  in  reference  to  one  of 
his  triumphs,  exclaimed  that  he  enjoyed  his 
friend's  fame  as  his  own. 

As  the  outcome  of  his  multifarious  labors, 
Priestley  is  at  present  known  chiefly  in  two 
most  widely  different  capacities,  —  as  one 
who  helped  to  prepare  the  way  for  the  new 
chemistry,  and  as  one  who  was  largely  in- 
strumental in  the  establishment  of  Unitari- 
anism  in  England  and  America.  These  two 
services  which  he  rendered  to  our  modern 
world,  it  would  seem,  should  bring  him  very 


io4         JOSEPH    PRIESTLEY 

near  to  us.  In  spirit,  they  do  ;  but,  as  we 
read  his  works,  even  in  regard  to  these  two 
great  offices,  it  is  astonishing  how  far  away 
he  often  seems.  We  realize  how  the  intel- 
lectual world  has  changed  in  this  brief 
period. 

In  chemistry,  the  work  of  Lavoisier  may 
represent  the  barrier  that  separates  him 
from  us.  He  ventured  to  deny  the  exist- 
ence of  phlogiston,  —  that  Mrs.  Harris  of 
chemistry,  —  for  which  he  was  burned  in 
effigy  at  Berlin.  He  also  laid  the  founda- 
tion of  a  system  of  chemical  terminology, 
so  that  henceforth  the  science  spoke  a  new 
and  precise  language. 

In  theology,  among  many  influences  that 
might  be  named  which  make  the  old 
thought  so  foreign  to  the  new,  perhaps  that 
of  Coleridge  may  be  considered  as  among 
the  most  important.  The  work  of  Cole- 
ridge in  theology  was  precisely  the  opposite 
of  that  which  Lavoisier  performed  in  chem- 
istry. Lavoisier  adopted  a  nomenclature 
clear,  sharp,  and  precise.  Every  term  told 
its  definite  story.  The  influence  of  Cole- 
ridge was  to  break  up  the  sharpness  of  theo- 
logical terminology.  With  him  came  a 
certain    philosophical   mysticism,    by   which 


JOSEPH    PRIESTLEY         105 

the  sharp  antagonisms  of  thought  and 
speech  were  somewhat  solved ;  and  there 
entered  into  theology  a  somewhat  freer, 
less  dogmatic,  and  more  sympathetic  spirit. 
However  this  may  be,  whatever  may  have 
been  the  factors  or  the  instruments  of  the 
change,  it  is  certain  that  the  theological 
utterances  of  these  early  Unitarians  have 
a  somewhat  far-away  sound  to  us.  It  may 
be  well,  then,  on  this  occasion,  to  consider 
the  work  which  these  early  Unitarians  ac- 
complished, and  to  ask  how  their  position 
differed  from  the  Unitarianism  of  to-day. 

The  early  Unitarian  movement  was  very 
largely  within  the  Presbyterian  Church. 
The  English  Presbyterians  had  been  grow- 
ing more  and  more  liberal,  until  at  last, 
before  they  fairly  knew  to  what  they  had 
been  tending,  they  found  themselves  to 
have  become  Unitarian,  and  were  ready  to 
accept  the  name.  The  two  men  who  con- 
tributed most  to  bring  about  this  definite 
result  were,  however,  connected  with  other 
bodies  of  Christians.  Lindsey  was  a  clergy- 
man of  the  Church  of  England.  Slowly  and 
sadly  he  brought  himself  to  face  the  neces- 
sity of  a  change  of  position  and  of  church 
allegiance.     He  felt  himself  very   solitary ; 


106         JOSEPH    PRIESTLEY 

for,  though  there  were  enough  who  agreed 
with  him,  so  far  as  his  rejection  of  the 
articles  of  faith  was  concerned,  he  found 
himself  almost  alone  in  his  sense  of  obliga- 
tion to  leave  a  church,  the  creed  of  which  he 
no  longer  believed,  and  the  prayers  of  which 
he  could  no  longer  conscientiously  repeat. 

Priestley  had  been  brought  up  as  an  Inde- 
pendent, and  had  begun  his  life  in  full 
acceptance  of  the  orthodox  belief. 

The  movement  in  which  he  bore  a  part 
was  largely  intellectual  rather  than  emo- 
tional. Dogmas  were  rejected,  to  a  great 
extent,  because  they  were  not,  as  these 
searchers  judged,  taught  in  the  Bible,  rather 
than  on  account  of  any  protest  of  the  heart. 
Priestley,  indeed,  gave  up  the  notion  of  any 
responsibility  for  Adam's  sin  on  account  of 
its  unreasonableness.  Earlier  he  had  felt 
himself  to  have  sinned  past  forgiveness, 
possibly  in  part  because  he  found  himself 
unable  to  repent  of  the  sin  of  Adam.  He 
commenced,  however,  in  perfect  good  faith, 
to  study  the  doctrine  of  the  Atonement  as 
taught  in  the  New  Testament.  To  his 
great  surprise,  he  found  that  the  orthodox 
dogma  was  not  there.  Belsham,  being  a 
teacher,    brought    together    the    texts    that 


JOSEPH    PRIESTLEY         107 

taught  the  doctrine  of  the  Trinity.  He  did 
this  in  order  to  strengthen  the  faith  of  his 
pupils.  To  his  surprise,  the  process  weak- 
ened his  own.  Every  year  as  he  went  over 
the  ground,  it  seemed  weaker  to  him,  until 
at  last  his  faith  in  the  doctrine  was  wholly 
gone.  So  far,  then,  from  starting,  as  is 
sometimes  supposed,  with  lax  views  of 
Scripture,  and  reaching  heretical  views 
through  an  unrestrained  use  of  human 
reason,  they  were  driven  to  their  heresies 
very  largely  by  the  authority  of  Scripture. 
Doubts  as  to  the  infallibility  of  the  Bible 
came,  for  the  most  part,  after  its  judgment 
had  been  rendered  for  the  views  called 
heretical.  Though  the  motives  for  the 
change  of  faith  were  thus  at  first  largely 
intellectual,  the  change  itself  brought  great 
peace  and  joy  to  the  hearts  of  these  re- 
formers. Let  us  see  in  what  way  the  relief 
and  the  satisfaction  were  accomplished. 

The  belief  of  these  Unitarians  can  be 
very  simply  told.  It  was  faith  in  God  as 
the  Father  and  in  Christ  as  the  Revealer. 
In  fact,  these  two  articles  were  in  essence 
one.  They  believed  in  God  as  the  Father, 
because  Christ  had  so  revealed  him.  Before 
the    simplicity   of  this  faith,   the  intricacies 


108        JOSEPH    PRIESTLEY 

of  the  doctrine  of  the  Trinity,  the  artificial- 
ness  of  the  doctrine  of  the  Atonement,  the 
gloom  which  rested  over  man's  eternal  des- 
tiny, passed  suddenly  away.  Doctrinal  sub- 
til ties,  theatrical  effects,  technical  schemes, 
gave  place  to  a  simple,  childlike  faith  in  the 
loving  Father  of  all. 

Dr.  Channing,  in  one  of  the  most  eloquent 
of  his  sermons,  pointed  out  the  distracting 
effect  which  the  doctrine  of  the  Trinity 
must  have  upon  the  religious  faith.  Are 
there  three  gods  to  whom  we  must  give  our 
worship,  or  is  there  one  only  ?  Indeed,  the 
doctrine  in  its  actual  development  has 
swung  between  these  two  extremes.  I 
doubt  if  it  is  possible  for  any  mind,  at  any 
single  moment,  to  hit  the  precise  mean  in 
which  Unity  and  Trinity  are  seen,  each  in 
its  due  relation  to  the  other,  simply  be- 
cause such  due  relation  is  itself  impossible. 
Professor  Shedd,  who  in  these  days  repro- 
duces the  older  thought  of  the  Church  with 
a  clearness  and  richness  of  statement  such  as 
we  could  hardly  find  elsewhere,  insists  that 
the  members  of  the  Trinity  have  separate 
experiences  and  separate  consciousnesses, 
and  that  the  consciousness  of  the  Trinity 
itself  is  thus  a  collective  consciousness.     It 


JOSEPH    PRIESTLEY         109 

is  hard,  practically,  to  see  in  such  a  relation 
anything  more  or  less  than  three  gods  act- 
ing in  perfect  harmony. 

After  all,  however,  the  difficulties  concern- 
ing the  doctrine  of  the  Trinity  are  chiefly 
intellectual.  If  one  accepts  it  or  if  one 
denies  it,  the  Christian  life  is  not  much 
affected.  Even  an  open  tritheism  or  poly- 
theism might  be  held  religiously.  It  is  the 
doctrines  that  have  been  associated  with 
that  of  the  Trinity  that  have  weighed  upon 
men's  hearts.  It  was  the  relief  from  these 
that  filled  the  souls  of  these  reformers  with 
joy.  It  was  as  if  black  and  heavy  clouds 
had  rolled  away,  and  the  blue  heavens 
stretched  above  them,  and  the  clear  sun- 
shine gladdened  their  hearts.  God  was  no 
longer  the  stern  judge,  demanding  the  death 
of  the  innocent  before  he  could  forgive  the 
guilty,  if  that  can  be  called  forgiveness 
which  has  been  purchased  at  such  a  price. 
Christ  was  no  longer  the  substituted  victim 
of  the  Father's  wrath.  Man  was  no  longer 
under  the  curse  of  God.  These  men  saw 
only  the  love  of  God  reflected  in  the  face  of 
Jesus.  Man  was  the  child  of  God,  still  fol- 
lowed and  ever  to  be  followed  by  the  Father's 
love. 


no         JOSEPH   PRIESTLEY 

Rarely  has  piety  been  manifested  under 
a  more  attractive  form  than  that  which  it 
assumed  in  the  lives  of  these  early  Unita- 
rians. It  was  simple  and  manly.  It  was 
without  cant  and  technicality.  It  was  free 
from  anything  that  was  morbid.  It  was  as 
natural  as  the  trust  which  we  place  in  the 
laws  of  nature.  Even  what  may  seem  to  us 
erroneous  in  the  thought  of  Priestley  con- 
tributed its  part  to  the  pure  and  steady 
light  of  this  simple  faith.  His  belief  in 
necessity  was  simply  an  intense  form  of 
faith  in  God.  Since  everything  was  deter- 
mined by  God,  what  place  is  there  for  grief 
or  anxiety  ?  It  was  a  marvel  to  his  child- 
like mind  that  Calvinism,  starting  as  it  does 
from  the  thought  of  the  sovereignty  of  God, 
could  reach  results  so  terrible.  The  sover- 
eignty of  God  meant  to  him  the  sovereignty 
of  a  wise  goodness.  He  believed  that  Cal- 
vinism thus  carried  at  its  heart  a  principle 
that  would  one  day  transform  it  into  a  sys- 
tem of  beauty.  On  the  last  day  of  his  life, 
he  expressed  his  faith  that  the  lives  of  all 
men  would  be  guided  to  the  best  issues. 
"  We  shall  all  meet  finally,"  he  said.  "  We 
only  require  different  degrees  of  discipline, 
suited   to   prepare   us  for  final  happiness." 


JOSEPH    PRIESTLEY         m 

The  last  evening  of  his  life,  when  bidding 
good-night  to  a  little  grandchild,  he  said, 
"  I  am  going  to  sleep  as  well  as  you  ;  for 
death  is  only  a  good,  long,  sound  sleep  in 
the  grave,  and  we  shall  meet  again."  Such 
was  the  simple,  childlike  faith  of  these 
reformers. 

Of  course,  these  results  were  bought  at  a 
price.  Such  a  system  as  that  which  they 
opposed  could  not  pass  away  without  carry- 
ing with  it  much  that  had  proved  helpful 
and  precious  to  the  souls  of  men.  For  gen- 
erations, for  centuries,  in  the  special  forms 
of  faith  which  these  men  opposed,  sweet  and 
noble  spirits  had  found  rest  and  inspiration. 
They  must  have  been  fitted  to  quicken 
and  satisfy  the  religious  nature.  These 
forms*  of  faith,  we  must  admit,  had  elements 
of  helpfulness  which  the  new  faith,  with  all 
its  beauty,  did  not  possess,  and  for  which  it 
had  no  direct  substitute. 

To  look  at  the  matter  from  without,  there 
was  a  picturesqueness  in  the  older  faith 
that  was  lacking  in  the  new.  I  have  said, 
in  speaking  of  the  change,  that  it  was  as  if 
dark  and  heavy  clouds  had  been  rolled 
away.  There  is  often  a  picturesqueness  in 
the  cloud.     How  magnificent  is  the  thunder- 


ii2         JOSEPH    PRIESTLEY 

cloud,  black  and  beetling  or  bronzed,  it  may 
be,  with  a  lurid  light !  How  magnificent 
the  flash  of  the  lightning,  even  though  we 
shrink  and  grow  pale  before  it !  How  mag- 
nificent the  crash  of  the  thunder,  though  it 
seems  to  be  uttering  the  doom  of  the  world  ! 
One  might,  it  would  seem,  sometimes  tire  of 
an  unclouded  heaven,  and  long  for  the  re- 
freshment of  a  spectacle  like  this.  Then 
in  the  older  faith  there  was  a  certain  dra- 
matic, even  a  tragic,  interest.  History  had 
a  plot.  There  was  the  beauty  of  the  early 
paradise  where  our  first  parents  lived  with- 
out care  or  sin,  when  the  world  brought 
what  was  the  fairest  and  laid  it  at  their 
feet,  and  in  the  garden,  in  the  cool  of  the 
evening,  God  himself  walked.  Then  there 
was  the  fall.  Then  came  the  centuries  of 
sin,  brightened  only  now  and  then  by  a 
prophetic  light,  that  grew  clearer  as  time 
went  on,  until  at  last  he  that  had  been 
prophesied  and  waited  for  so  long  appeared. 
What  scene  could  be  conceived  in  which 
should  centre  such  stupendous  magnificence, 
such  absorbing  interest,  as  that  on  Calvary  ? 
Here  God  bore  the  penalty  of  human  sin. 
Here  was  the  great  sacrifice  by  which  the 
divine   wrath   was   turned   aside   from    the 


JOSEPH    PRIESTLEY         113 

chosen  ones.  Here  the  storm-cloud  that 
had  hung  over  the  world  so  long  at  last 
burst.  The  bolt  struck  ;  but  man  escaped. 
It  struck  this  willing  victim  of  the  wrath  of 
God. 

All  this  was  in  the  past ;  but  in  the 
future  was  to  come  a  scene  yet  more  august 
and  terrible.  It  was  that  of  the  final  judg- 
ment. This  willing  victim  was  to  appear  as 
the  world's  judge,  —  a  judge  more  awful  be- 
cause of  the  love  which  he  had  shown  the 
world.  All  peoples  were  to  be  gathered  be- 
fore him.  The  wicked  were  to  depart  to 
their  endless  doom  ;  and  the  righteous  were 
to  enter  into  endless  blessedness. 

It  is  idle  to  underrate  the  power  of  a  faith 
that  could  offer  such  interest  as  this.  The 
lives  of  most  are  commonplace.  We  love  to 
be  thrilled  even  by  the  interest  of  the  mimic 
stage  ;  and  what  is  all  that  the  genius  and 
the  art  of  man  could  offer  compared  with 
this  spectacle  in  which  God  and  the  devils 
and  the  whole  race  of  man  had  part  ? 

If  to  some  this  was  a  mere  spectacle 
which  awed  and  exalted,  to  those  who  gave 
themselves  to  the  full  power  of  this  faith 
it  was  a  drama  in  which  they  themselves 
had  part.     Men  love  not  only  the   pictur- 


ii4         JOSEPH    PRIESTLEY 

esque,  they  love  excitement  also.  There  is 
a  fascination  in  a  game  that  is  played  for 
some  tremendous  stake.  What  a  stake  was 
this  for  which  these  men  were  playing  ! 
The  stake  for  each  was  his  own  soul.  An 
endless  heaven  was  on  the  one  side,  an  end- 
less hell  on  the  other.  There  was  in  every 
case,  for  a  time  at  least,  the  element  of 
uncertainty.  Who  could  tell,  until  at  last 
the  full,  sweet  assurance  came,  whether  he 
was  or  was  not  of  the  elect  ?  A  young 
preacher  once  told  me  that,  if  he  did  not 
believe  in  the  eternity  of  the  punishment 
of  the  unrepentant,  he  should  not  think  it 
worth  his  while  to  preach.  After  the  ex- 
citement of  the  game  for  such  high  stakes, 
anything  less  stimulating  seemed  to  him 
insipid  and  commonplace.  Even  to-day  we 
find  leaders  in  the  Church  doubting  whether 
men  can  be  trusted  to  be  sent  as  mission- 
aries to  the  heathen,  who  do  not  believe 
that  the  unconverted  heathen  are  lost  for- 
ever. 

More  important  than  all  this  was  the 
rapture  which  the  soul  that  recognized 
itself  as  living  in  such  relations  sometimes 
felt.  After  the  dread  and  the  terror  came 
the  joy.     You  are  at  a  house,  let  us  suppose, 


JOSEPH    PRIESTLEY  115 

in  which  the  son  and  the  brother  is  exposed 
to  some  great  peril.  He  is  accused  of  some 
capital  crime.  The  trial  is  progressing. 
You  find  the  family  in  the  depth  of  anxiety 
and  grief.  Suddenly  he  appears  upon  the 
scene.  The  trial  is  ended.  He  has  been 
acquitted  with  honor.  With  what  rapture 
he  is  received  !  With  what  tumultuous  joy 
is  the  dwelling  filled  !  You  return  to  your 
own  pleasant  home,  where  you  receive  a 
glad  but  quiet  greeting.  What  is  this  com- 
pared with  the  exaltation  which  you  have 
just  beheld ! 

In  this  indication  of  the  elements  of 
popular  power  possessed  by  the  faith  which 
these  Unitarians  opposed,  I  have  presented 
these  elements  as  they  appear  when  they 
reach  their  fullest  and  most  definite  results. 
I  wish  to  contrast  the  quietness  of  the  Uni- 
tarian faith  with  the  more  exciting  quality 
which  may  be  assumed  by  the  forms  of 
belief  to  which  it  is  opposed.  In  the  Church 
of  England,  it  must  be  admitted  that  these 
elements  existed  in  a  more  quiet  state,  the 
more  exciting  experience  to  which  I  have 
referred  being  found  rather  in  the  dissent- 
ing churches.  The  Established  Church  rec- 
ognized,  however,   those    articles    of  belief 


n6         JOSEPH    PRIESTLEY 

which  in  the  more  enthusiastic  bodies  aroused 
such  struggles  in  the  heart.  It  had  much  of 
the  same  picturesqueness  in  its  faith,  and 
added  to  this  the  picturesqueness  of  its  an- 
cient liturgy  and  of  its  magnificent  temples. 
There  was,  however,  one  element  of 
power  present  in  all  these  churches.  The 
aspects  of  faith  to  which  I  have  referred 
were  important  as  arousing  and  keeping 
alive  the  interest  of  men.  That  to  which 
I  shall  now  refer  had  power  to  touch  the 
heart.  The  doctrine  of  the  Incarnation,  as 
it  has  been  held  by  Christendom,  is  one  of 
great  power  and  tenderness.  The  thought 
that  God  himself,  out  of  love  for  man,  did 
really  live  upon  the  earth,  that  he  walked 
our  streets  and  slept  beneath  our  roofs,  that 
he  took  little  children  in  his  arms  and  blessed 
them,  that  he  everywhere  brought  sympathy 
and  consolation  and  forgiveness,  that  he  died 
for  men  ;  that  he,  the  God-man,  now  reigns 
in  heaven  and  still  looks  upon  men  with  the 
same  sympathetic  tenderness  as  of  old,  —  all 
this  could  but  touch  the  heart  of  men.  Pro- 
fessor Shedd  tells  us  distinctly  that  a  God- 
man  is  now  the  middle  person  of  the  Trinity. 
How  must  this,  to  those  who  accept  it,  make 
the  thought  of  God  a  power  of  comfort  and 


JOSEPH    PRIESTLEY         117 

of  strength  !  It  is  not  strange  that  in  these 
days,  when  the  older  creed  is  slowly  melt- 
ing away,  like  an  iceberg  in  the  Southern 
Seas,  while  one  doctrine  after  another  is 
losing  the  sharpness  of  its  outline  and  fad- 
ing out,  —  it  is  not  strange,  I  say,  that  to  so 
many  this  faith  in  the  God-man  enthroned 
in  the  heavens  should  be  the  last  to  give 
way;  that,  while  all  else  is  becoming  vague 
and  dim,  the  face  of  Jesus,  bearing  in  its 
glory  a  touch  of  the  old  sadness  that  tells 
of  suffering  and  yet  more  of  sympathy, 
should  still  be  seen  to  look  down  upon  us 
from  on  high.  This  human  sympathy  in 
God,  —  this  God  who  made  himself  a  man, 
—  this  is  something  that,  so  far  as  the 
human  heart  is  concerned,  nothing  can  quite 
replace. 

I  have  thus  contrasted  with  the  beauty 
of  the  Unitarian  faith  something  of  the 
cost  at  which  it  was  obtained.  The  cost 
was  real  and  great.  But  we  must  remem- 
ber that  all  advance  in  human  life  has  been 
paid  for  by  a  like  sacrifice.  More  tenderly 
than  the  thought  of  the  God-man  appeals 
to  the  Protestant  does  the  gentle  mother  of 
God  appeal  to  the  heart  of  the  Catholic. 
He  can  pour  into  her  ear  what  he  could  not 


n8         JOSEPH    PRIESTLEY 

utter  to  her  Son.  What  special  power  over 
the  heart  have  the  images  of  the  Catholic 
Church !  Through  them  a  man  can  grasp 
the  feet  of  his  Lord  and  look  up  into  his 
eyes,  and  feel  that  somehow,  though  it  is  an 
image  that  he  clasps,  yet  his  Lord  is  really 
there.  There  is  a  nearness  of  approach 
that  under  other  circumstances  is  not  pos- 
sible. After  visiting  a  region  like  the 
Tyrol,  where  the  popular  faith  is  yet  strong, 
where  the  shrine  and  the  image  meet  you  at 
every  turn,  and  everywhere  there  is  recogni- 
tion of  them  and  devotion,  the  Protestant 
faith,  at  its  warmest,  seems  somewhat  chill 
and  bare. 

Consider,  further,  at  what  a  cost  Chris- 
tianity itself  was  bought.  Think  of  the  fair 
humanities  of  the  elder  faith,  the  grace  of 
nymph  and  dryad  and  the  bright  glory  of 
the  gods.  What  a  shadow  fell  across  the 
scene  when  the  cross  was  lifted  in  the  midst 
of  the  world,  and  all  these  forms  of  loveli- 
ness shrank  away,  chilled  from  its  presence ! 
Go  back  even  before  the  classic  faith. 
Even  Fetichism,  in  which  the  various  ob- 
jects of  nature  about  us  were  themselves 
divine,  had  a  power,  so  at  least  Comte  main- 
tained, that  no  later  religion  has  equalled. 


JOSEPH    PRIESTLEY         119 

Take,  as  the  type  of  all,  the  life  of  the  child. 
At  what  cost  are  the  buoyancy  of  youth  and 
the  strength  of  manhood  bought!  As  we 
look  back  upon  the  hours  of  childhood,  we 
feel  "  that  there  has  passed  a  glory  from  the 
earth."  With  childhood,  something  was 
lost  that  later  years  cannot  restore.  Thus 
are  the  path  of  the  race  and  the  path  of  the 
individual  strewn  with  fallen  flowers,  which 
in  their  full  beauty  shall  never  be  seen 
again. 

Is  it  a  sad  truth  that  the  better  must 
always  be  purchased  by  the  loss  of  the  good  ? 
It  is  a  glad  truth,  rather.  It  shows  the 
wealth  of  life.  It  shows  that  at  every  stage 
of  development  there  is  something  worth  the 
having.  Should  you  call  that  man  happy 
who,  as  he  looked  back  to  his  childhood,  saw 
nothing  to  regret  ?  Should  we  not  say  that 
the  loss  of  this  regret  was  the  loss  of  one 
of  the  great  charms  of  life  ?  If  the  path 
along  which  the  individual  or  the  race  has 
trodden  is  strewn  with  fallen  and  withered 
flowers,  it  shows  simply  that  flowers  have 
grown  all  along  the  way. 

I  bear,  then,  glad  witness  to  the  power 
which  was  possessed  by  the  forms  of  religion 
against  which   Unitarianism  was  a  protest. 


120         JOSEPH   PRIESTLEY 

I  pay  a  glad  tribute  of  recognition  to  the 
good  which  these  forms  of  religion  have 
wrought  in  the  world.  Doubtless  these 
early  reformers,  who  had  felt  within  them- 
selves something  of  this  power,  felt  also 
something  of  sadness  at  the  change.  Cer- 
tainly, they  felt  the  loss  of  sweet  companion- 
ship. They  felt  most  keenly  the  suspicion 
and  the  hate  which  they  had  roused  against 
themselves.  But  the  time  had  come,  so 
far  at  least  as  they  were  concerned,  for  a 
freer  and  larger  faith.  They  felt  the  price 
that  they  were  paying,  but  they  felt  also*  that 
the  gain  was  worth  more  than  all  its  cost. 
They  rejoiced  to  follow  their  Master  without 
the  camp,  bearing  his  reproach.  They  felt 
that  it  was  better  to  stand  with  him  beneath 
the  open  heaven,  and  listen  reverently  while 
he  spoke  to  them  of  his  Father  and  our 
Father,  of  his  God  and  our  God,  than  it  was 
to  bow  before  him  and  worship  him  as  a 
Divinity.  The  dreams  of  our  childhood  are 
very  sweet ;  but  who  of  us  would  go  back  to 
his  childhood  ?  In  spite  of  the  burdens  of 
life,  there  is  a  joy  in  manly  freedom  and 
even  in  manly  toil.  Religion  is  something 
better  than  picturesqueness.  It  has  a  nobler 
form  than  that  of  scenic  display.     Moments 


JOSEPH    PRIESTLEY  121 

of  ecstasy  are  not  its  best  gift  to  man. 
There  is  even  a  tenderness,  as  there  is  a 
terror,  that  marks  an  incomplete  develop- 
ment of  the  religious  thought.  We  are 
summoned  to  the  fulness  of  the  stature  of 
Christ.  We  are  summoned  to  a  large,  a  free, 
and  a  manly  faith.  These  men  had  reached 
the  thought  of  a  God  that  the  heaven  of 
heavens  cannot  contain,  that  could  not  take 
form  in  any  one  human  personality,  however 
holy.  In  Christ  they  found  a  revelation  of 
God,  a  manifestation  of  his  holiness  and 
love ;  but  the  thought  of  God  himself,  of 
the  Infinite  One,  brought  to  their  hearts  a 
peace,  a  strength,  and  a  gladness  that  noth- 
ing else  could  bring.  The  relation  of  God 
to  the  world  assumed  a  grandeur  that  was 
more  worthy  of  Him.  Schemes  of  salvation, 
legal  expedients,  disappeared,  as  clouds  melt 
in  the  summer  sky.  Their  spirits  found 
themselves  face  to  face  with  the  Father.  It 
is  as  if  they  had  heard  the  very  words  of 
Jesus  when  he  said,  "  I  say  not  that  I  will 
pray  the  Father  for  you,  for  the  Father  him- 
self loveth  you." 

They  found  a  power  in  this  faith.  I  have 
spoken  of  the  power  that  there  was  in  the 
thought  of  the  Incarnation,  —  the  thought 


122         JOSEPH    PRIESTLEY 

of  the  God-man  upon  the  earth  and  of  the 
man-God  in  the  heavens.  But,  after  all,  the 
incarnation  that  has  most  moved  the  hearts 
of  men  has  been  something  closer  and  more 
real  than  this.  It  has  been  the  incarnation 
of  the  spirit  of  Jesus  in  his  followers.  It 
is  related,  I  know  not  how  truly,  that,  when 
Pere  Hyacinthe  was  in  this  country,  one  of 
our  foremost  preachers  remarked  to  him,  in 
a  conversation,  that  it  was  the  business  of 
the  minister  to  point  his  hearers  to  Christ. 
"  No,"  answered  the  Frenchman,  "  it  is  his 
business  to  be  Christ  to  his  people."  It  is 
this  incarnation,  whether  it  be  in  Catholic 
priest  or  Protestant  minister,  that  has  given 
a  large  part  of  its  power  to  Christianity.  It 
is  this  that  has  made  the  story  of  the  incar- 
nation in  Jesus  credible  and  real.  This  in- 
carnation is  as  possible  and  has  been  as  truly 
accomplished  by  the  Unitarian  minister  as 
by  any  other.  If  it  has  failed,  the  fault  has 
been  not  with  his  doctrine,  but  with  him. 

However  much  the  picturesque  and  the 
theatrical  may  attract  men,  however  much 
the  story  of  an  incarnate  God  can  move 
them,  it  is  a  mistake  to  think  that  only 
under  these  more  or  less  extravagant  forms 
religion  can  touch   the  hearts  even  of  the 


JOSEPH    PRIESTLEY         123 

humblest.  We  have  in  the  gospel  story 
itself  the  proof  to  the  contrary.  When 
Jesus,  standing  upon  the  Mount,  saw  the 
people  gathered  about  him,  and  opened  his 
mouth  and  taught  them,  he  uttered  the 
truth  of  religion  in  its  simplest  form.  In 
what  he  said  there  was  no  hint  of  Trinity 
or  of  a  God-man  or  of  "scheme."  He  told 
the  people  simply  of  God,  and  of  the  beauty 
of  the  life  to  which  God  called  them.  He 
pointed  them  to  no  less  an  example  than 
their  Father  who  is  in  heaven  ;  and,  so  far 
as  approach  to  Him  was  concerned,  he  told 
them  that  the  pure  in  heart  should  see  Him, 
and  that  the  peacemakers  should  be  called 
His  children.  Too  simple  and  bare  all  this, 
it  might  appear,  to  touch  the  hearts  of  men  ; 
yet  we  are  told  that  "  the  common  people 
heard  him  gladly."  This  is  the  gospel  that 
Unitarianism  undertook  to  preach  ;  and,  if 
the  preacher  has  caught  anything  of  the 
spirit  of  his  Master,  his  words  will  not  lack 
power.  Compared  with  the  clear  beauty  of 
this  Sermon  on  the  Mount,  how  do  the  dog- 
mas at  which  we  have  glanced,  while  we 
recognized  their  power,  seem  like  feverish 
dreams.  In  passing  from  them  to  this,  we 
feel    that   we    have    awakened    from    such 


i24         JOSEPH    PRIESTLEY 

dreams  to  the  light  of  a  pure,  sweet  day. 
Men  may  speak  of  the  "pale  negations"  of 
Unitarianism,  but  the  child  may  be  called 
happy  the  peace  of  whose  loving  home  is 
not  disturbed  by  anger  or  frantic  terrors, 
and  one  who  has  a  religion  of  a  like  peace- 
ful gladness  is  to  be  called  still  happier. 

We  have  thus  considered,  in  the  most 
general  way,  the  relation  of  the  faith  of 
these  early  Unitarians  to  that  of  their  con- 
temporaries and  predecessors  in  the  church 
from  which  they  felt  compelled  to  separate. 
It  remains  for  us  to  look  briefly  at  the  rela- 
tion in  which  those  who  to-day  are  called 
Unitarians  stand  to  these  fathers  of  their 
faith. 

We  have  already  noticed  a  certain  re- 
moteness that  we  find  in  their  utterances. 
This  is  doubtless  to  be  explained  in  part  by 
the  change  that  has  taken  place  in  literary 
habits  in  general,  and  especially  by  the  fact 
that  the  religious  teaching  now  stoops  more 
to  the  common  facts  of  life  than  it  was  wont 
to  then.  But  there  has  been  also  a  change 
in  the  thought  that  is  called  Unitarian.  I 
have  already  referred  to  the  necessarianism 
and  the  so-called  materialism  of  Priestley. 
These  do  much  to  produce  the  effect  of 


JOSEPH    PRIESTLEY         125 

which  I  speak.  But,  leaving  these  out  of 
the  account,  the  Unitarianism  which  these 
reformers  taught  was  a  germ  in  which  were 
possibilities  of  a  large  development.  There 
was  a  certain  abstractness  in  it  which  ad- 
mitted of  being  filled  cut  and  made  con- 
crete. I  have  already  spoken  of  the  work 
of  Coleridge  as  marking  an  epoch  in  the 
religious  thought  of  the  English-speaking 
world.  So  far  as  the  definite  development 
of  the  Unitarian  thought  is  concerned,  the 
names  which  would  best  indicate  certain 
marked  epochs  are  perhaps  those  of  Chan- 
ning  and  Parker. 

The  early  Unitarianism  looked  chiefly 
Godward.  God  was  the  Father  in  whose 
love  man  may  rejoice.  In  natural  relation  to 
the  fatherhood  of  God,  Charming  emphasized 
the  thought  of  the  sonship  of  man.  The 
dignity  of  human  nature  is  the  great  truth 
which  we  specially  associate  with  the  thought 
of  Channing.  It  is  a  natural  corollary  of 
the  other  truth,  but  it  was  one  that  needed 
the  emphasis  which  the  magnificent  enthu- 
siasm of  Channing  gave  to  it.  That  man 
was  made  in  the  image  of  God  had  been  for 
ages  accepted  as  a  truism.  But  to  see  in 
every  man  something  of  the  glory  of  this 


126         JOSEPH    PRIESTLEY 

divine  image  —  I  say  actually  to  see  some- 
thing of  this  glory  in  every  man  —  was,  so 
far  as  I  know,  at  least  in  these  later  days, 
reserved  for  Channing.  What  a  power  did 
this  bring  into  religious  faith  !  Surely,  it 
was  no  "  pale  negation M  now.  I  will  not 
claim  for  Unitarianism  more  than  its  share 
in  the  philanthropic  work  of  these  later 
years,  but  certainly  the  Unitarian  view  of 
human  nature  is  in  a  special  manner  fitted 
to  inspire  such  labor. 

I  have  spoken  of  Parker  as  marking  a 
second  stage  in  the  development  of  Unitari- 
anism. I  refer  to  him  not  as  though  he 
stood  alone.  Carlyle  and  Emerson  and  the 
whole  Transcendental  movement,  though 
outside  of  Unitarianism,  left  their  mark 
upon  it.  Neither  do  I  mean  that  Parker 
may  stand  as  the  type  of  modern  Unita- 
rianism. He  had  affirmations  and  denials 
peculiar  to  himself.  He  may  stand,  how- 
ever, as  the  representative  of  one  of  the 
most  important  developments  of  modern 
Unitarianism. 

Historically  speaking,  Unitarianism  was 
for  the  most  part  the  product  of  Arianism. 
I  mean  that  the  path  to  Unitarianism  has 
for   the   most   part  led   through  Arianism. 


JOSEPH    PRIESTLEY         127 

Arianism  possessed  a  certain  hardness. 
God,  Christ,  and  man  stood  each  alone. 
There  was  no  community  of  being,  .no  mys- 
tical interplay  of  life  with  life.  Early  Uni- 
tarianism,  as  the  descendant  of  Arianism, 
possessed  a  little  of  its  hardness.  Priestley 
was  indeed,  so  far  as  his  thought  of  Christ 
was  concerned,  a  true  humanitarian.  Against 
the  persuasions  of  his  friends,  he  uttered 
uncompromisingly  his  denial  of  the  doc- 
trine of  the  supernatural  birth  of  Jesus. 
Yet  to  him  and  to  his  fellows  the  thought 
of  the  revelation  that  was  in  and  through 
Christ  retained  something  of  an  artificial 
character.  It  was  upon  this  external  revel- 
ation that  their  faith  largely,  and  in  some 
respects  wholly,  rested.  Priestley  affirms  ab- 
solutely that  outside  of  this  revelation  there 
exists  no  reason  even  for  the  hope  of  im- 
mortality. The  element  of  the  artificial 
which  had  marked  so  largely  the  creeds  of 
Christendom  was  reduced  to  a  minimum. 
There  was  the  merest  hint  of  the  presence 
of  a  scheme  according  to  which  men  were 
to  be  saved.  In  this  artificial  and  external 
view  of  revelation  there  was  still,  however, 
the  vestige  of  such  a  scheme.  Priestley 
treated,  indeed,    the   New  Testament   with 


128        JOSEPH    PRIESTLEY 

the  greatest  critical  freedom  ;  but  there  yet 
remained  this  inner  kernel  of  the  technical 
and  the  artificial.  I  have  named  Parker  as 
the  representative  of  that  development  in 
Unitarian  thought  in  which  was  attained 
the  recognition  of  the  naturalness  and  uni- 
versality of  man's  relation  to  God.  In  this, 
the  central  principle  of  Unitarianism  came 
to  its  full  consciousness.  There  was  still 
whatever  there  had  been  before.  Men 
might  still  have  a  place  in  their  thought  for 
that  which  has  been  called  miraculous. 
Jesus  may  still  stand  as  the  foremost  mani- 
festation of  God  upon  the  earth.  Men  may, 
and,  if  they  see  truly,  must  still,  rec- 
ognize the  debt  which  they  owe  to  him,  — 
a  debt  incalculable  and  unequalled.  Parker 
himself  could  sing :  — 

'<  Yes :  thou  art  still  the  life  ;  thou  art  the  way 
The  holiest  know,  —  Light,  Life,  and  Way  of  heaven. 
And  they  who  dearest  hope  and  deepest  pray 
Toil  by  the  light,  life,  way,  which  thou  hast  given." 

But  the  relation  was  simple  and  natural. 
Christianity  takes  its  place  among  the  reli- 
gions of  the  world.  If  it  is  supreme  above 
them,  it  is  because  of  its  greater  complete- 
ness.    If  it  speaks  with  more  authority,  it 


JOSEPH    PRIESTLEY         129 

is  because  there  is  found  in  it  more  fulness 
of  the  divine  life. 

Stated  more  profoundly,  the  thought  which 
marks  this  later  development  of  the  Unita- 
rian faith,  or  at  least  that  toward  which  this 
development  is  tending,  is  that  of  the  divine 
immanence  in  the  world.  It  is  the  thought 
of  the  presence  of  God,  not  at  certain  points 
of  time  or  in  certain  places  merely  or  chiefly, 
but  at  all  times  and  places.  It  is  the  thought 
of  the  divine  power,  not  acting  upon  the 
world  from  without  merely,  but  from  within. 
It  finds  in  the  world  the  presence  of  a 
divine  life.  It  echoes  the  words  of  Paul 
that  "  in  him  we  live  and  move  and  have  our 
being."  It  is  this  thought  which  has  made 
impossible  any  recognition  of  the  special 
and  the  artificial,  which  leaves  no  place  for 
the  vestige  of  any  "scheme  "  in  the  manage- 
ment of  the  world.  This  thought  changes 
to  some  extent  our  vocabulary.  It  puts  new 
meaning  into  some  words,  and  makes  the 
use  of  others  impossible.  "  Do  you  make  of 
Christ  a  mere  man  ?  "  the  Unitarian  is  some- 
times asked.  In  the  light  of  the  truth  that 
we  are  considering,  there  is  seen  to  be  no 
such  thing  as  "  a  mere  man."  There  is  in 
all  men  some  germ  of  the  divine  life ;  and, 
9 


130        JOSEPH   PRIESTLEY 

when  we  recognize  even  the  faintest  begin- 
ning of  this,  there  is  no  limit  to  be  placed 
upon  its  possible  accomplishment.  "  Do  you 
leave  man,"  it  is  asked,  cc  to  struggle  onward 
and  upward  by  himself?  "  No  man  and  no 
nation  is  left  thus  unaided.  In  the  presence 
of  this  thought,  that  which  has  passed  for 
belief  in  God's  revelation  and  in  God's  sav- 
ing help  seems  to  have  a  touch  of  atheism ; 
for,  that  he  may  be  seen  then  or  there,  other 
times  and  places  seem  to  be  left  without  his 
presence. 

The  two  great  stages  that  have  marked 
the  later  development  are,  then,  the  recog- 
nition of  the  dignity  of  man  and  of  the  im- 
manence of  God  in  the  world.  The  early 
Unitarianism  recognized  the  fatherhood  of 
God.  Those  noble  and  emancipated  souls 
rejoiced  in  the  unclouded  light  of  his  pres- 
ence. The  truth  they  saw  was  cheering  and 
life-giving.  However  precious  it  was  in  its 
simplicity,  it  was  yet  more  precious  in  the 
fact  that  it  was  germinant,  that  there  was 
within  it  the  power  and  the  necessity  of  de- 
velopment, that  it  could  and  must  become 
larger  and  more  concrete,  and  absorb  into 
itself  the  manifold  elements  of  human  life 
and  experience. 


JOSEPH    PRIESTLEY        131 

What  I  have  said  of  the  development  of 
the  Unitarian  faith  is,  I  rejoice  to  say,  com- 
mon to  a  greater  or  less  extent  to  other 
forms  of  Christian  belief.  It  is  found  even 
among  those  who  bear  names  that  would 
ally  them  to  the  older  creeds,  to  some  even 
who  take  these  creeds  upon  their  lips.  I 
claim  no  monopoly  of  the  truth  for  Unita- 
rians. The  spirit  that  has  been  stirring  in 
them  has  been  stirring  also  in  other  hearts. 
Old  names  and  old  words  are  beginning  to 
lose  their  meaning,  and  an  inner  brother- 
hood is  beginning  to  make  itself  felt  between 
those  that  seemed  most  widely  separated. 

It  is  possible  that  every  generation  since 
history  fairly  began  has  felt  itself  to  some  ex- 
tent exceptional,  has  felt  that  in  it  a  critical 
moment  in  human  destiny  has  been  reached. 
Certainly,  our  own  age  seems  to  us  to  form 
one  of  the  great  turning-points  in  the  world's 
history,  and  especially  in  the  history  of  reli- 
gious thought.  So  far  as  the  Bible  is  con- 
cerned, criticism  has  made  much  that  was 
formerly  held  without  a  doubt  impossible  of 
belief.  Science  has  shown  the  facts  of  the 
universe  sometimes  to  be  in  sharp  contrast 
with  those  which  revelation  had  been  sup- 
posed to  teach.     The  theory  of  the  develop- 


132         JOSEPH    PRIESTLEY 

merit  of  the  higher  life  out  of  the  lower, 
even  of  the  higher  life  of  man  out  of  the 
lower  life  of  the  world,  has  left  scarcely  any- 
thing in  our  thought  precisely  what  it  was 
before.  It  has  been  a  period  of  overturning 
and  of  upbuilding.  No  thinking  man  can 
have  passed  through  all  this  change  un- 
changed. Certainly,  no  church  can  pass 
through  it  and  come  out  precisely  what  it 
was  before.  Forms  of  speech  have  changed, 
and  forms  of  thought  have  changed  more 
than  forms  of  speech.  The  churches  have 
changed,  and  are  changing  still.  The  Uni- 
tarian Church  has  changed,  and  is  changing 
still.  What  I  claim  is  that  the  develop- 
ment of  the  faith  of  the  Unitarian  Church 
through  these  critical  times  has  been  in  the 
direction  of  the  fulfilment  of  that  which  was 
most  positive  in  it,  while  the  development  of 
the  faith  of  most  other  Protestant  Churches 
has  been  found  in  the  fading  out  of  what  was 
most  specific  in  them. 

Such  a  statement  could  not  be  made  in 
regard  to  the  Papal  Church.  Within  two  or 
three  years,  a  Catholic  scientist  of  great  and 
well-won  reputation  has  published  papers 
recognizing  the  results  both  of  scientific 
theory  and  of  Biblical  criticism,  and  claim- 


JOSEPH    PRIESTLEY         133 

ing  that  in  all  these  there  is  nothing  hostile 
to  the  faith  of  the  Papal  Church.  It  was 
understood  that  these  utterances  were  made 
with  a  certain  authority ;  and  no  condemna- 
tion of  them  has  been  uttered  by  the  Church. 
The  Church  that  was  held  to  be  an  anach- 
ronism in  this  nineteenth  century  has  shown 
thus  a  special  readiness  to  accept  its  teach- 
ing. Its  faith,  so  far  as  it  has  changed,  has 
simply  intensified  what  was  most  special 
in  it.  In  these  later  years,  it  has  added 
two  articles  to  its  creed,  —  one  that  of  the 
immaculate  conception  of  the  virgin,  the 
other  that  of  the  infallibility  of  the  Pope. 
We  have,  then,  the  Roman  Church  and 
the  so-called  Liberal  Church,  each  develop- 
ing its  faith  by  affirmations  that  are  simply 
the  unfolding  of  its  fundamental  principle ; 
while  the  churches  that  stand  between  the 
two,  so  far  as  they  have  changed  at  all,  have 
been  giving  up  much  that  was  most  charac- 
teristic, or  suffering  much  that  was  most 
characteristic  to  fade  into  comparative  insig- 
nificance. I  recall  only  one  instance  in  which 
the  movement  has  been  in  the  opposite  di- 
rection, in  which  one  of  the  fundamental 
doctrines  of  the  Church  has  assumed  a  more 
intense  form.     In  what  is  sometimes  known 


134         JOSEPH    PRIESTLEY 

as  the  "  new  theology/ '  the  necessity  for 
salvation,  of  a  personal  acceptance  of  Jesus, 
receives  an  unwonted  prominence.  This, 
however,  has  been  purchased  at  the  cost  of 
the  equally  fundamental  doctrine  of  the  fixed 
condition  of  all  souls  after  death,  and  is  ac- 
companied by  a  fading  out  of  some  other 
doctrines  no  less  important.  What  have 
these  two  extremes  of  the  Christian  world  — 
the  Papal  Church  and  the  Unitarian  Church 
—  in  common,  so  that  in  each  that  which  is 
most  fundamental  is  being  developed  into 
new  intensity,  while  in  so  many  churches  the 
change  is  in  the  fading  out  of  what  had 
seemed  most  fundamental  ?  They  do  have 
one  other  thing  in  common,  whether  it  may 
or  may  not  help  to  explain  that  to  which  I 
have  referred  :  both  recognize,  as  most  other 
branches  of  the  Christian  Church  have  in 
the  past  failed  to  recognize,  the  present 
authority  of  the  Spirit  of  God.  Other 
Churches  have  claimed  to  rest  on  the  au- 
thority of  the  Bible.  The  Papal  Church 
claims  that  the  Bible  rests  upon  its  author- 
ity. Do  you  want  the  confirmation  of 
miracles  ?  It  will  work  them  for  you  to- 
day. Do  you  want  some  direct  utterance 
from  God  ?     Listen  to  what  the  Church  says 


JOSEPH    PRIESTLEY         135 

to-day.  The  Papal  Church  is  then,  in  its 
way,  the  Church  of  this  nineteenth  century, 
in  that  it  is  bound  to  no  record  of  the  past, 
but  stands  the  ever-fresh  and  ever-living  in- 
carnation of  the  Spirit  of  God.  Thus  it  is 
that  it  can  meet  the  waves  of  thought,  like 
the  ship  that  is  its  symbol,  and  keep  serenely 
on  its  appointed  course. 

The  Liberal  Church  recognizes  also  as 
supreme  the  authority  of  the  present  Spirit 
of  God.  It  finds  this  not  embodied  in  a 
single  institution,  like  the  Papal  Church.  It 
seeks  it  not  in  trances,  in  ecstasies,  and 
special  revelations,  as  so  many  enthusiasts 
have  done.  It  recognizes  its  power  working 
through  the  normal  faculties  of  the  human 
soul,  through  the  despised  reason,  through 
the  loving  heart,  through  the  heaven-seeking 
aspirations  of  the  spirit.  It  finds  its  reve- 
lation in  the  magnificence  of  nature,  in  its 
sublime  order  and  harmony,  in  the  grander 
sublimity  of  the  moral  law,  in  the  tender- 
ness of  human  hearts  and  the  heroism  of 
human  lives.  If  it  finds  it  most  of  all  in 
Jesus,  it  is  because  he  stands  as  the  repre- 
sentative of  what  is  loftiest  and  best  in 
faith  and  life,  because  he  brought  to  light 
new   spiritual   potencies  in   man,  and    thus 


i36         JOSEPH    PRIESTLEY 

a  grander  and  tenderer  thought  of  God. 
Other  forms  of  faith  may  accept  the  revela- 
tions of  our  modern  science.  The  liberal 
faith  rejoices  in  them,  for  they  exhibit  that 
orderly  progression  in  the  history  of  the 
world  which  its  fundamental  principles 
would  lead  it  to  expect.  So  far  as  other 
Protestant  Churches  are  changing,  they  are 
approaching  a  position  like  that  which  the 
Liberal  Church  now  occupies.  It  might  not 
be  too  extravagant  a  forecast  if  we  conject- 
ure that,  in  the  no  one  can  guess  how  remote 
future,  there  shall  be  but  two  bodies  in  the 
Christian  Church, — one  the  Papal  Church, 
standing  for  faith  in  a  narrow  and  super- 
natural ecclesiasticism,  and  the  other  the 
Liberal  Church,  whatever  name  it  may  bear 
and  whatever  form  it  may  assume,  embody- 
ing the  faith  in  a  spiritual  and  divine  nat- 
uralism. This  prophecy  I  do  not  care  to 
make.  I  simply  point  you  to  the  tendencies 
in  Christendom  pointing  in  these  opposite 
directions,  and  to  the  massing  of  forces  on 
the  one  side  and  on  the  other  that  indicates 
the  possibility  of  a  line  of  cleavage  such  as 
that  which  I  have  supposed. 

We  have  thus  considered  the  beauty  of 
the   faith  which  marked  the  beginning  of 


JOSEPH    PRIESTLEY         137 

our  modern  Unitarianism,  and  the  fulness 
into  which  its  later  thought  has  developed. 
While  we  rejoice  in  this  fulness,  let  us  not 
forget  that  these  early  Unitarians  held  all 
that  is  essential  to  a  calm,  glad,  and  exalted 
religious  faith.  Let  us  be  grateful  to  them 
for  the  peaceful  revolution  in  religious  be- 
lief that  they  accomplished.  Let  us  catch 
some  inspiration  from  their  memory ;  and 
may  our  lives  become  as  sweet,  as  sincere, 
and  as  earnest  as  theirs,  and  may  we  feel 
the  power  of  a  faith  as  devout  and  as  up- 
lifting as  that  by  which  their  lives  were 
blessed  ! 


THE    FAITH    OF    SCIENCE    AND   THE 
SCIENCE    OF   FAITH 


THE   FAITH    OF    SCIENCE    AND    THE 
SCIENCE   OF   FAITH 

The  words  "  faith  "  and  "  science  "  are  often 
used  as  if  they  stood  to  one  another  in  a  rela- 
tion not  merely  of  antithesis,  but  in  one  of  op- 
position and  exclusion.  We  often  speak  of  the 
realm  of  faith  and  the  realm  of  science,  as  if 
each  was  a  world  by  itself.  As  soon  as  an  ob- 
ject enters  the  realm  of  science,  we  are  apt  to 
feel  that  it  has  left  the  realm  of  faith;  and 
so  long  as  an  object  remains  in  the  realm  of 
faith,  it  is  felt  to  be,  by  that  fact,  excluded 
from  the  realm  of  science.  Many  believe 
that  the  realm  of  science  is  surely  and 
steadily  encroaching  upon  that  of  faith  ;  and 
many  are  looking,  some  with  dread  and  some 
with  hope,  to  see  the  realm  of  faith  becoming 
smaller  and  smaller,  until  at  last  there  will 
be  no  place  left  for  it,  and  science  shall  reign 
supreme  and  alone.  Indeed,  this  antagonism 
between  faith  and  science  is  felt  by  many  to 
constitute  the  great  dramatic  or  even  tragic 
interest  of  the  present  age. 

This   whole   view,    however,    is   founded 
upon  error.     There  is  no  such  thing  as  a 


i42     THE   FAITH    OF   SCIENCE 

realm  of  science  apart  from  the  realm  of 
faith.  There  is  no  exclusion  or  opposition 
in  the  relation  of  science  and  faith.  They 
have  to  do  with  the  same  facts.  They  rep- 
resent simply  different  sides  of  the  same 
knowledge.  Faith,  we  may  say,  furnishes 
the  basis,  and  science  the  superstructure;  or 
we  may  say  that  faith  furnishes  the  material, 
and  science  elaborates  this  material  into  its 
perfect  form.  Faith,  we  may  say,  is  the 
nebula,  and  science  the  completed  world 
which  is  developed  out  of  it.  Or,  better 
still,  faith  may  be  represented  by  the  great 
law  of  attraction  in  its  varied  forms,  while 
science  is  the  solid-seeming  world  that  is 
bound  together  and  upheld  by  this.  Thus 
there  is  no  science  that  does  not  imply  a 
corresponding  faith,  and  there  is  no  faith 
that  is  not  capable  of  a  scientific  elaboration. 
The  only  difference  between  what  we  call 
the  realm  of  science  and  what  we  call  the 
realm  of  faith  is,  that  the  realm  of  faith  is 
the  broadest, »for  the  reason  that  the  whole 
extent  of  it  has  not  yet  been  developed  into 
science.  So  far  as  science  extends,  its  field 
is  identical  with  that  of  faith.  The  progress 
of  science  neither  encroaches  upon  nor  limits 
faith.     It  simply  elaborates  more  and  more 


AND   SCIENCE   OF   FAITH     143 

of  the  material  of  faith  into  its  fitting  and 
true  form.  But  the  material  is  still  as  truly 
that  of  faith,  as  it  was  in  its  simplest  and 
most  unformed  state.  It  is  because  I  con- 
sider this  relation  a  vital  one,  that  I  have 
selected,  or  rather  accepted,  it  for  my  theme 
on  the  present  occasion.  Our  great  theo- 
logical necessity  is  felt  to  be  that  of  giving  to 
our  faith  a  scientific  form ;  but  this  work 
cannot  be  approached,  or  its  methods  con- 
sidered, without  first  taking  note  of  the  faith 
which  is  the  basis  of  what  in  our  common 
speech  we  term  science.  The  study  of  the 
faith  of  science  is  the  essential  introduction 
to  a  comprehension  of  the  nature  of  the 
science  of  faith. 

The  faith  on  which  the  magnificent  struc- 
ture of  our  science  rests  is  twofold,  or  rather 
it  acts  in  a  manner  which  may  be  best  con- 
sidered under  two  distinct  heads.  In  the 
first  place,  it  gives  to  science  the  real  world 
which  is  its  field.  I  need  not  spend  many 
words  to  illustrate  the  fact,  which  is  recog- 
nized even  by  our  most  simple  and  primary 
works  on  metaphysics,  that  we  have  only 
certain  sensations,  which  we  organize  into  a 
world.  We  cannot  by  any  reasoning  get 
beyond  these.     Every  man  carries  his  own 


i44    THE   FAITH    OF   SCIENCE 

world  in  his  own  brain.  The  mountains, 
the  oceans,  the  stars,  the  cities,  the  men  he 
meets,  the  heroes  that  he  honors,  whether 
of  the  past  or  the  present,  —  these  are  all 
the  scenery  and  the  inhabitants  of  his  own 
mind.  It  is  only  by  faith  that  he  gives  to 
these  an  outward  reality.  He  does  this  for 
no  reason,  but  simply  because  he  cannot  help 
it.  Their  objective  reality  can  neither  be 
proved  nor  disproved.  The  belief  in  it  is 
above,  or  beneath,  all  proof.  It  is  stronger 
even  than  the  instinct  of  life.  I  need  not 
illustrate  this  by  reference  to  the  fact,  that 
a  man  will  die  for  one  of  these  phantoms  of 
his  brain.  We  need  simply  refer  to  the  fact, 
that  the  man  believes  himself,  in  any  way 
and  to  any  degree,  mortal.  Because  these 
figures  that  flit  across  the  inner  world  which 
he  carries  with  him  pass  at  last  and  do  not 
return,  he  believes  that  he  also  shall  pass  and 
shall  not  return.  Because  the  figures  that 
take  part  in  these  tragic  or  comic  scenes  die, 
the  great  stage  and  theatre  shall  also  disap- 
pear. In  a  word,  the  man  puts  himself,  for 
life  or  for  death,  upon  a  level  with  this  popu- 
lation of  his  own  mind,  with  this  creation 
of  his  own  thought.  This  unconscious  con- 
descension  shows   how   strong  is    the    faith 


AND   SCIENCE   OF   FAITH     145 

which  gives  to  us  the  real  world  of  things, 
of  persons  and  events,  —  which  is  a  world  of 
faith,  and  of  faith  only.  It  may  be  remarked, 
in  passing,  that  the  truth  that  has  just  been 
referred  to  shows  how  impossible  it  is  for 
the  mind  ever  to  receive  any  proof  from  the 
outward  world  that  shall  disturb  its  faith 
in  its  own  immortality;  for 

"  The  mind  is  like  the  sky,  — 
Than  all  it  holds  more  deep,  more  high." 

If  the  reality  of  the  outward  world,  and 
thus  the  very  field  and  material  of  science,  is 
given  by  faith,  no  less  does  faith,  in  the 
second  place,  furnish  the  methods  of  science. 
Science  is  a  constant  progress  from  the  seen 
to  the  unseen.  By  the  mighty  instrumen- 
tality of  induction,  it  makes  the  little  knowl- 
edge that  rests  upon  experience  the  basis  of 
a  vaster  knowledge,  that  stretches  far  beyond 
the  reach  of  any  possible  experience.  From 
a  few  cases  it  reasons  to  all  similar  cases. 
From  the  past  it  reasons  to  the  future.  It  is 
as  confident  in  regard  to  the  future,  as  it  is 
in  regard  to  the  past;  as  confident  in  regard 
to  the  facts  it  has  not  witnessed,  as  in  regard 
to  those  that  are  most  familiar  to  its  experi- 
ence.   By  what  right  does  it  thus  pass  from  the 


146     THE   FAITH    OF   SCIENCE 

few  to  the  many,  from  the  seen  to  the  unseen, 
from  the  past  to  the  future  ?  Hume  affirmed 
that  the  mind  had  no  such  right  and  power ; 
yet  the  mind  continually  exercises  this  right 
and  this  power.  What,  then,  is  the  basis  of 
our  faith  in  the  inductions  of  science?  It  is 
interesting  to  see  how  loath  the  human  mind 
is  to  give  up  belief  in  outward  foundations 
and  supports,  and  the  naive  confidence  with 
which  it  assumes  them.  Nothing  is  more 
natural  than  the  Hindoo  theory,  that  the 
earth  rests  upon  an  elephant,  and  the  ele- 
phant upon  a  tortoise ;  or  than  that  of  the 
old  lady  who  believed  that  the  earth  rested 
upon  a  rock,  and  that  upon  another,  and 
that  there  were  rocks  all  the  way  down. 
The  mind  naturally  assumes  a  foundation, 
and  it  is  long  before  the  question  forces 
itself,  "  Upon  what  does  this  foundation 
rest  ?  "  So  it  lays  rocks  beneath  the  earth, 
or  places  a  patient  elephant  beneath  it ;  it 
forms  crystal  spheres  to  support  the  stars, 
and  thinks  that  all  is  firmly  based.  We 
can  now  hardly  realize  the  importance  of  the 
revolution  by  which  the  mind  reaches  the 
conviction,  that  there  is  no  outward  support 
for  anything ;  that  there  is  no  point  of  rest 
in  all  the  material  universe ;  that  everything 


AND   SCIENCE    OF    FAITH     147 

floats,  if  that  can  be  said  to  float  that  is  not 
even  upheld  by  any  medium;  that  sun  and 
moon  and  stars,  and  the  earth  itself,  move 
through  the  infinite  space  upheld  by  nothing; 
that  there  is  no  arch  for  the  stars,  no  pillars 
for  the  earth ;  that  there  is  only  vacancy 
above  and  below  everything.  A  revolution 
similar  to  this  has  yet  to  be  accomplished  in 
the  world  of  the  mind  and  the  spirit.  We 
return  to  the  question,  On  what  rests  our 
faith  in  the  inductions  of  science?  John 
Stuart  Mill  affirms,  with  naive  simplicity 
like  that  of  the  old  lady  who  thought  that 
there  were  rocks  all  the  way  down,  that  faith 
in  induction  rests  upon  induction ;  in  other 
words,  that  there  is  induction  all  the  way 
down.  He  says  this  with  some  slight  cir- 
cumlocution indeed,  but  this  is  the  condensed 
substance   of  his   statement.1     I    know   not 

1  His  words  are:  "  Whatever  be  the  most  proper  mode 
of  expressing  it,  the  proposition  that  the  course  of  nature 
is  uniform  is  the  fundamental  principle,  or  general  axiom,  of 
Induction.  It  would  yet  be  a  great  error  to  offer  this  large 
generalization  as  any  explanation  of  the  inductive  process. 
On  the  contrary,  I  hold  it  to  be  itself  an  instance  of  induction 
by  no  means  of  the  most  obvious  kind." —  Logic,  Book  III. 
chap,  iii,  i. 

He  further  explains  his  meaning  thus  :  "  We  arrive  at 
this  universal  law  [of  causation]  by  generalization  from  many 
laws  of  inferior  generality.     The  generalizing  propensity, 


148     THE   FAITH    OF   SCIENCE 

whether  the  view  of  such  a  mighty  intellect, 
resting  so  unquestioningly  on  such  a  baseless 
series  of  foundations,  should  make  us  more 
or  less  reliant  upon  the  results  of  our  own 
thoughts.  And  there  is  nothing  that  shows 
how  natural  it  is  for  men  to  assume  founda- 
tions without  asking  what  they  rest  upon, 
than  the  fact  that  so  many  accept  this  state- 
ment as  all-sufficient ;  that  so  many,  in  fact, 
cannot  be  made  to  see  why  the  statement, 
that  faith  in  induction  rests  upon  induction, 
does  not  explain  everything  completely. 

The  simple  fact  is,  the  mind  has  the  in- 
stinct of  generalization.  Just  as  it  cannot 
help  looking  through  the  eyes,  and  believing 
what  it  sees ;  so  it  cannot  help  generalizing, 
and  believing  in  the  results  of  its  generaliza- 
tion. This  instinct,  then,  and  the  unques- 
tioning and  often  unconscious  faith  that  we 
have  in  it,  is  the  only  basis  of  the  mighty 

which,  instinctive  or  not,  is  one  of  the  most  powerful  prin- 
ciples of  our  nature,  does  not  indeed  wait  for  the  period  when 
such  a  generalization  becomes  strictly  legitimate.  The  mere 
unreasoning  propensity  to  expect  what  has  been  often  ex- 
perienced, doubtless  led  men  to  believe  that  everything  had 
a  cause,  before  they  could  have  conclusive  evidence  of  that 
truth.  But  even  this  cannot  be  supposed  to  have  happened 
until  many  cases  of  causation,  or,  in  other  words,  many 
partial  uniformities  of  sequence,  had  become  familiar."  — 
lb.  chap.  xxi.  x. 


AND    SCIENCE    OF    FAITH 


149 


world  of  our  modern  science.  But  does  not 
our  faith  in  this  rest  on  our  experience  of  its 
reliability  ?  Yes ;  but  what  is  experience 
but  prolonged  induction  ?  And  why  do  we 
trust  to  experience  ?  Or  shall  we  say  that  it 
is  experience  all  the  way  down  ? 

There  have  been  times  when  there  was 
much  discussion  in  regard  to  innate  truths. 
Some  affirmed  them  in  almost  unlimited  pro- 
fusion ;  some  denied  them  altogether.  The 
latter  asked  how  they  were  packed  away  in 
the  mind;  and  why,  if  they  were  innate, 
they  were  not  present  in  the  consciousness 
from  infancy.  Each  party  was  partially 
right  and  partially  wrong.  Strictly  speak- 
ing, we  have  no  innate  truths.  We  have 
instincts  which  come  to  consciousness  at  dif- 
ferent periods  of  the  spirit's  growth.  Each 
of  these  instincts  implies  —  if  it  be  reliable 
—  a  certain  construction  of  the  outer  world, 
and  a  certain  relation  to  it  of  the  individual. 
The  instinct  being  given,  a  competent  mind 
could  deduce  from  it  this  group  of  circum- 
stances and  relations.  Thus  the  faith  that 
we  have  in  any  instinct  implies,  when  it  is 
fully  developed  into  consciousness,  faith  in 
a  certain  truth  which  is  the  basis  and  the  end 
of  this  instinct.     Thus   there   is   latent   in 


ISO    THE   FAITH   OF   SCIENCE 

every  instinct,  involved  in  it,  implied  by  it, 
an  idea  that  may  sooner  or  later  reach  its 
consciousness.  Thus,  if  we  use  the  terms 
"innate  ideas,"  and  are  asked  where  they 
were  at  first  stored  in  the  mind,  we  must  say 
that  first  they  exist  potentially  in  the  form 
of  instincts,  as  the  destined  flower  and  fruit 
exist  potentially  in  the  germ.  The  idea  or 
truth  that  is  involved  in  the  instinct  of  gen- 
eralization is  this,  —  that  the  world  is  a 
systematic  and  organized  whole.  If  this 
were  not  so,  the  instinct  of  generalization 
would  only  deceive  us.  As  the  plant  slowly 
but  surely  reaches  its  flowering,  so  does  this 
instinct  slowly  but  surely  attain  to  the  full 
consciousness  of  this  idea.  It  is  helped  to 
this  by  experience ;  but  yet  it  is  itself  the 
implied,  though  not  always  recognized,  basis 
of  faith  in  experience.  And  it  is  a  most 
marked  and  important  fact  in  this  connection, 
that  the  first  distinct  utterance  of  this  truth 
was  in  defiance  of  experience.  The  Eleatics 
affirmed  the  One.  They  did  not  seek  to 
reconcile  the  many  with  this  —  to  find  a 
unity  in  the  manifold.  They  simply  de- 
nied the  many.  They  denied  all  the  re- 
sults of  experience.  There  was  no  manifold. 
There  was  no  motion.     The  senses  deceive. 


AND   SCIENCE   OF   FAITH     151 

There  is  only  the  One.  Thus  did  the  grand 
truth  of  the  absolute  unity,  in  its  first  his- 
toric utterance,  set  itself  up  against  the  con- 
crete world  of  experience,  and  attempt  to 
sweep  it  utterly  out  of  existence  with  a  proud 
denial.  The  task  of  philosophy  and  of 
science  ever  since  has  been  to  reconcile  this 
unity  and  this  diversity,  to  find  unity  in  the 
diversity,  and  to  look  upon  the  manifold 
as  one.  The  unity  for  which  it  has  sought 
is  the  unity  of  an  organic  wholeness.  The 
faith  in  the  reality  of  this  has  been  its  life 
and  its  inspiration.  The  faith  in  the  reality 
of  this  has  gained  clearness  and  strength  by 
all  the  magnificent  triumphs  of  its  inductive 
methods;  but,  consciously  or  unconsciously 
expressed  or  implied,  it  at  first  prompted 
and  gave  authority  to  these  methods.  For 
without  the  instinct  of  generalization,  and 
faith  in  this  instinct,  though  every  fact  in 
the  universe  of  all  past  time  were  known,  we 
could  not  reason  in  regard  to  a  single  fact  of 
the  future,  any  more  than  the  duck  could 
swim  even  though  you  threw  it  into  the 
water,  or  the  bird  could  fly  though  you 
threw  it  into  the  air,  unless  each  had  the 
fitting  instinct  and  instrument.  Rightly 
looked  upon,  there  is   hardly  anything   in 


i52     THE   FAITH    OF   SCIENCE 

the  whole  reach  of  our  knowledge  sub- 
limer  than  this  faith,  by  means  of  which  the 
magnificent  world  of  modern  science  floats 
unsupported,  and  needing  no  support,  self- 
buoyed,  self-poised,  and  self-sufficient.  And 
how  ridiculous  does  this  sublimity  make  that 
arrogance  appear  which  would  boast  of  the 
solid  foundations  of  science,  in  opposition  to 
the  baselessness  of  faith  !  So  one  might  — 
mocking  at  the  things  that  are  invisible  — 
stamp  his  foot,  and  say  that  he  would  accept 
nothing  less  solid,  visible,  and  tangible  than 
this  material  world  ;  yet  how  foolish  does  he 
look  when  we  picture  him  to  ourselves  cling- 
ing to  the  outside  of  this  little  spinning  ball 
of  thinly  crusted  fire,  whirling  through  space 
with  a  swiftness  that  his  thought  cannot  con- 
ceive, with  only  the  infinite  depths  of  noth- 
ingness beneath  him,  yet  boasting  of  the 
solid  ground  on  which  he  stands.  Truly 
he  has  a  solid  support  beneath  him.  But 
his  ultimate  reliance  is  not  on  that  which 
is  visible  and  tangible :  it  is  on  the  mighty 
though  invisible  forces  that  sustain  this.  So 
foolish  is  the  pride  of  one  who  might  con- 
temptuously compare  faith  with  science.  The 
world  of  science  is  a  world  of  faith.  It  rests 
on  no  other  foundation,  is  held  together  by 


AND   SCIENCE   OF   FAITH     153 

no  other  power.  But  therefore  it  is  that  its 
foundation  is  so  secure.  Therefore  it  is  that 
it  moves  on  its  way  with  the  unconscious 
confidence  of  the  round  world  itself. 

The  faith,  then,  which  is  the  basis  of 
science,  which  at  first  exists  unconsciously  in 
the  simple  instinct  of  generalization,  and 
which  at  last,  by  the  aid  of  experience,  though 
always  far  in  advance  of  experience,  reaches 
its  full  consciousness,  is  the  faith  that  the 
universe  is  a  perfect  and  organic  whole. 
The  faith  which  Is  the  basis  of  religion  and 
of  theology  is  only  the  extension  and  com- 
pletion of  this.  It  is  the  faith,  namely,  that 
this  whole  is  animated  and  governed  by  a 
power  of  good ;  that  everything  is  working 
out  some  good  end ;  and  that  all  things  are 
uniting,  or  will  be  made  to  unite,  in  the 
accomplishment  of  this  one  purpose  of  good- 
ness. Though  this  faith  comes  comparatively 
slowly  to  its  full  consciousness,  though  it 
struggles  up  at  first  like  an  untimely  plant 
struggling  with  bitter  winds  and  biting  frosts, 
yet  it  has  its  root  very  deep  in  our  original 
nature.  We  find  it  implied  in  the  earliest 
and  most  fundamental  instincts  of  the  race. 
Indeed  the  free,  undoubting,  glad  obedience 
to  any   natural    instinct  implies   this    faith. 


154    THE   FAITH    OF   SCIENCE 

Still  more  is  it  implied  by  the  more  special 
religious  and  moral  instincts.  The  instinct 
of  worship ;  the  instinct  of  prayer ;  the  in- 
stinct of  trust ;  the  power  of  conscience,  in 
which  the  good  asserts,  by  an  undoubting 
instinct,  its  supremacy,  approving  or  con- 
demning all  things  as  a  divinely  appointed 
judge,  —  all  of  these  imply  the  supremacy 
of  goodness  in  the  universe,  and  when  fully 
developed,  assisted  by  experience,  though 
still  far  in  advance  of  experience,  unite  and 
culminate  in  a  conscious  faith  in  this  su- 
premacy. The  development  of  this  faith  is 
often  hindered,  and  its  purity  marred,  by 
the  mingling  of  other  and  lower  sentiments 
and  instincts  with  these.  Personal  fear  long 
holds  back  this  trusting  confidence,  refusing 
to  be  wholly  guided  and  comforted  by  it. 
The  sense  of  personal  ill-desert  shrinks  from 
faith  in  this  infinite  and  all-ruling  goodness, 
which  it  feels  must  be  just,  because  it  is 
good.  The  imperfection  of  the  moral  sense 
blurs  the  beauty  of  the  ideal  of  perfect  good- 
ness; for  it  knows  not  really  what  it  shall 
call  wholly  good,  or  what  it  shall  seek  in 
seeking  for  it.  In  all  this,  religious  faith 
finds  its  parallel  in  what  we  have  called  the 
faith  of  science;  and  indeed  the  history  of 


AND   SCIENCE   OF   FAITH     155 

the  one  finds  its  analogon  at  every  step  in 
the  history  of  the  other,  with  this  difference, 
—  that  the  faith  of  science  has  reached  a 
point  of  development  far  in  advance  of  that 
which  religious  faith  has  yet  reached.  In- 
deed, it  is  only  yet  reaching,  and  that  very 
slowly,  the  general  recognition  of  its  foun- 
dation principle, — a  principle  which  Jesus 
announced  eighteen  hundred  years  ago,  but 
which  became  speedily  hidden  and  lost,  like 
a  little  leaven  buried  in  the  mass,  which  is  to 
be  transformed  by  it  into  its  own  likeness. 

As  the  faith  of  science  made  its  first  utter- 
ance of  itself  in  the  face  of  experience,  and 
as  ever  since  it  has  been  strongest  in  the 
face  of  facts  that  seem  most  to  oppose  it, 
apparent  lawlessness  only  rousing  it  to  seek, 
with  fresh  confidence  and  zeal,  the  laws 
which  it  knew  must  exist  in  spite  of  apparent 
lawlessness,  —  so  faith  in  the  perfect  good- 
ness which  arranged,  and  which  guides,  and 
is  present  in,  all  things  is  often  strongest 
when  all  experience  would  seem  to  oppose  it 
most.  As  the  Eleatics  sweep  away  the  uni- 
verse that  the  One  might  exist  in  its  absolute 
unity,  so  theologians  have  swept  goodness 
out  of  the  world,  that  the  one  good  might 
not    have   any   connection   with,   and   thus 


156     THE    FAITH    OF    SCIENCE 

no  stain  or  dishonor  from,  this  world,  that 
has  so  much  of  evil  in  it ;  and  often,  when 
apparent  evil  presses  most  closely  about  the 
soul,  does  it  have  most  faith  in  the  infinite 
good.  When  the  outward  world  satisfies, 
the  soul  often  rests  content  without  the  con- 
scious impulse  to  look  beyond,  and  to 
explain  the  little  evil  that  it  may  find :  but 
when  in  the  outer  world  evil  seems  to  over- 
balance the  good ;  when  the  life,  stripped  by 
loss  and  overshadowed  by  sorrow,  seems  to 
have  nothing  left ;  or  when  the  outward  life 
itself,  passed  perhaps  in  weariness  and  sor- 
row, has  reached  its  extreme  limit,  and  there 
seems  no  outward  hope  possible,  —  then  how 
often  does  this  faith  in  the  perfect  goodness 
assert  itself  with  a  mighty  recoil,  and  the  soul 
cry,  "  Though  he  slay  me,  yet  will  I  trust 
in  him  "  ! 

As  the  faith  of  science,  drunken,  we  might 
almost  say,  with  its  own  self-confidence,  has 
constructed  wild  and  baseless  systems  of 
philosophy;  as  with  more  sober  thought  it 
has  constructed  systems  of  the  physical  uni- 
verse, of  wheels  within  wheels,  spheres  upon 
spheres,  cycles  and  epicycles,  in  which  sys- 
tems of  philosophy  and  systems  of  the 
physical  universe  there  was  nothing  true  but 


AND   SCIENCE   OF   FAITH     157 

this,  that  the  universe  is  a  perfect  and  sys- 
tematic whole,  —  so  the  faith  in  the  absolute 
Goodness  has  sought  to  realize  itself  in  many 
a  strange  and  fantastic  form.  It  has  reeled 
through  wild  creeds  and  systems  and  theolo- 
gies ;  it  has  devised  hells  of  endless  flame, 
to  burn  up  or  burn  forever  the  evil  that 
it  found  ;  it  has  framed  schemes  compared 
with  which  the  scheme  of  the  astronomers 
with  its  dizzy  cycles  and  epicycles  were  simp- 
licity, that  by  means  of  them  the  perfect  good 
might  be  seen  to  accomplish  itself  in  the 
world :  and  when  it  could  do  no  better,  and 
saw  no  other  outlet  or  escape;  when  it  had 
found  or  established  an  infinite  and  endless 
evil,  —  even  then  this  faith  could  not  be 
quieted  or  repressed;  and,  seeing  nothing 
else  left  for  it,  it  has  bowed  before  the  infinite 
evil,  and  said,  "  Since  this  is  supreme,  it  must 
be  good  :  let  us  worship  it." 

But  though  faith  in  the  perfect  goodness 
slowly  struggles  into  consciousness  out  of 
darkness  and  uncertainty ;  though,  at  first, 
belief  in  this  rests  side  by  side  with  other 
beliefs,  to  be  discussed  in  connection  with 
these  or  apart  from  them,  so  that  men  may 
assume  the  existence  of  God,  and  yet  ques- 
tion whether  or  not  he  is  good,  —  yet  by 


158     THE   FAITH   OF   SCIENCE 

slow  degrees  it  assumes  the  leading  place : 
until  at  last,  as  in  science  the  faith  in  the 
unity  of  the  universe  and  the  omnipresence 
of  law  comes  to  be  the  one  truth  in  which 
all  other  truths  find  their  place  and  their 
support ;  so  in  religion  faith  in  the  absolute- 
ness and  the  supremacy  of  good  comes  to  be 
recognized  as  the  one  truth,  in  which  all 
others  find  their  place  and  their  support. 

Few  facts  are  more  striking  than  the 
manner  in  which  men  will  use  a  word,  con- 
fident that  it  has  a  meaning,  long  before 
they  know  clearly  what  its  meaning  is.  Thus 
men  used  the  word  "cause,"  divining  its 
meaning,  although  they  could  not  tell  what 
it  was,  and  although  the  clearest  thinkers 
denied  that  it  had  any  meaning  like  that 
which  they  supposed ;  until,  within  a  few 
years,  science,  by  the  discovery  of  the  con- 
servation of  force  and  the  correlation  of 
forces,  has  showed  us  what  is  the  real  mean- 
ing of  the  word  "  cause."  So  men  used  the 
word  "  faith,"  with  vague  and  varying  mean- 
ing; but  so  soon  as  we  recognize  the  su- 
premacy and  absoluteness  of  goodness  as  the 
one  central  and  all-embracing  religious  truth, 
we  know  what  is  the  meaning  of  the  word 
"  faith."      Faith   is    confidence.      We    have 


AND   SCIENCE   OF   FAITH     159 

faith  in  that  in  which  we  have  confidence. 
You  may  believe  that  the  bridge  you  are 
crossing  is  not  strong  enough  to  support 
you,  yet  you  would  not  say  you  had  faith  in 
the  weakness  of  the  bridge.  If  you  have 
any  faith  in  it,  it  is  in  its  strength.  We  see 
this  expressed  in  one  of  those  Bible  defini- 
tions which  we  grow  so  slowly  to  compre- 
hend,—  "Faith  is  the  substance  of  things 
hoped  for"  Thus  one  may  have  faith  in  a 
future  in  which  every  spirit  shall  have  a  lov- 
ing providence  still  watching  over  it,  guiding 
its  feet  through  whatever  paths  may  lead  it 
soonest  home ;  but,  though  one  may  believe 
in  endless  misery,  it  can  never  be  an  object 
of  faith.  So  one  may  have  faith  in  the 
integrity  of  human  nature,  but  one  cannot 
have  faith  in  its  depravity. 

Faith  having  this  meaning,  we  understand 
how  there  is  one  absolute  religion.  We 
speak  of  religions  as  existing  side  by  side,  as 
being  true  or  false  ;  we  reckon  up  the  num- 
ber of  religions  in  the  world:  but  there  is 
but  one  religion,  and  all  forms  of  religion, 
so  called,  are  speculatively  religious  or  irre- 
ligious according  to  the  degree  in  which  they 
express  or  fail  to  express  this.  So  far  as  any 
belief  is  faith  in  an  all-ruling  and  an  all-over- 


160    THE   FAITH    OF   SCIENCE 

ruling  goodness,  so  far  it  is  religious.  So 
far  as  it  throws  doubt  upon  this  or  denies  it, 
so  far  it  is  irreligious.  The  religion  of  the 
intellect  is  this  recognition  of  goodness. 
The  irreligion  of  the  intellect  is  the  denial 
of  this.  This  denial,  if  it  apes  religious 
forms,  we  call  superstition ;  and  superstition 
bears  the  same  relation  to  religion  that  the 
dreams  of  the  alchemist  do  to  science.  To 
one  who  has  seen  clearly  that  religion  is  this 
faith  in  an  absolute  goodness,  the  nature  of 
religion  can  never  again  be  a  matter  of  doubt. 
He  may,  perhaps,  lose  this  faith  :  if  he  does, 
he  loses  his  religion.  But  the  question  as  to 
what  religion  teaches  on  this  point,  the 
question  between  a  true  religion  and  a  false 
religion,  can  never  again  arise. 

We  thus  see  the  possibility  of  the  science 
of  religious  faith,  and  also  what  must  be  the 
nature  of  this  science.  As  physical  science 
forms  itself  about  faith  in  the  absolute  order, 
so  religious  science  gathers  about  faith  in  the 
absolute  goodness.  Whatever  must  neces- 
sarily result  from  this  goodness,  it  affirms; 
whatever  absolutely  contradicts  this,  it  denies : 
and  it  assumes  without  question  whatever 
must  be  assumed,  in  order  to  reconcile 
known  and  finite  facts  with  the  belief  in  the 


AND   SCIENCE   OF   FAITH     161 

infinite  goodness.  Where  it  sees  mystery, 
it  believes  that  this  is  only  a  veil  concealing 
the  perfect  goodness;  as  physical  science 
sees  in  any  mystery  only  its  own  ignorance 
of  the  law  that  rules  there.  And  when  this 
science  of  faith  doubts  of  its  results,  its  only 
doubt  is  whether  the  reality  be  not  some- 
thing better  than  it  has  dreamed. 

The  science  of  faith  has  vast  and  varied 
content.  It  exalts  itself  to  a  sublime  and 
sweet  mysticism.  If  the  infinite  good  is 
working  over  all  and  in  all,  then  it  must  be 
working  over  and  in  us.  This  infinite  good 
cannot  be  blind,  cannot  be  cold;  it  cannot 
be  senseless.  The  very  word  implies,  in 
some  vast  sense,  a  purpose,  a  providence,  a 
love.  Our  very  being  must  have  its  root  in 
this,  and,  so  far  as  it  is  real,  must  be  one  of 
its  channels  or  manifestations.  The  truth 
of  immortality  is  found  in  it;  for  if  we  believe 

"That  nothing  walks  with  aimless  feet," 

we  cannot  believe  that  the  feet  of  loving, 
aspiring,  hoping,  suffering,  sorrowing  mortals 
tend  only  to  the  darkness  and  nothingness 
of  the  grave;  but  as  when,  in  wandering 
through  some  unknown  country,  we  see  a 
road  beaten  with  much  travel,  leading  down 


162     THE   FAITH    OF   SCIENCE 

to  the  shore  of  a  river,  and  into  the  river, 
and  lost  there,  we  do  not  doubt  that  a  road 
emerges  also  from  the  other  side,  and  that 
between  them,  uniting  them,  is  a  ferry  or 
a  ford,  —  so  we  know  that  the  road  which 
leads  to  the  river  of  death  emerges  on  the 
other  side.     And,  again,  if  we  believe 

"That  nothing  walks  with  aimless  feet," 

still  less  can  we  believe  that  the  feet  of  any 
spirit  are  guided  across  the  river  of  death 
only  to  be  led  at  last  to  the  lake  that  burneth 
forever.  We  see  also  how  the  science  of 
faith  involves  faith  in  human  nature,  faith  in 
the  great  movements  of  history,  faith  in  the 
struggles  of  human  thought  and  of  human 
life. 

I  repeat  that  it  must  not  be  supposed  that 
we  at  first  reach  these  special  truths  by 
reasoning  from  this  general  faith  in  the 
absolute  goodness.  As  faith  in  the  organic 
unity  and  completeness  of  the  world  is  in- 
volved in,  and  evolved  out  of,  the  half- 
conscious  instinct  of  trust  in  the  outer  world, 
of  confidence  in  the  teachings  of  experience, 
or,  in  a  word,  the  instinct  of  generalization ; 
although  at  last  this  complete  and  conscious 
faith  gives  to  this  original  instinct  a  logical 


AND    SCIENCE   OF   FAITH     163 

basis,  and  clears  it  from  much  confusion, 
and  guides  it  in  safe  paths,  —  so  the  faith  in 
the  absolute  goodness  is  involved  in,  and 
evolved  out  of,  the  instinct  of  trust,  by  which 
man  has  in  every  age  approached  the  outer 
universe,  confident  that  in  some  way  its 
nature  is  akin  to-  his  nature,  the  instinct  of 
worship,  the  instinct  of  prayer,  the  instinct 
that  looks  beyond  the  barrier  of  death,  and 
the  instinct  of  conscience ;  although  at  last 
it  rounds  these  into  a  whole,  gives  them  a 
logical  foundation,  frees  them  from  dark- 
ness and  superstition,  and  leads  them  to 
the  perfect  goal  towards  which  in  their 
weakness  and  their  blindness  they  were 
tending. 

But  though,  like  the  faith  in  the  perfect 
order  and  unity  of  the  world,  the  faith  in  the 
perfect  goodness  is  in  a  sense  self-supported, 
yet  like  that  it  has  many  confirmations.  It 
is  confirmed  by  the  wise  guidance  of  history, 
in  which  it  sees  how  evil  in  the  long-run  is 
lost  in  the  good,  and  has  been  indeed  the 
instrument  of  the  good.  It  finds  confirma- 
tion in  the  secret  history  of  many  a  life,  in 
which  events  that  seemed  the  darkest  and 
saddest  were  yet  transmuted  into  the  best 
blessings.     Indeed,  what  soul    cannot   find 


i64    THE   FAITH    OF   SCIENCE 

this  confirmation  in  its  own  history,  cannot 
see  where  sorrow  and  failure  and  disappoint- 
ment, those  things  which  we  call  evil,  were 
really  working  out  the  best  good  for  it ;  or, 
if  they  did  not  result  in  this,  that  it  was 
alone  to  blame.  All  such  experience  illus- 
trates and  confirms  the  faith,  that  it  is  the 
inner  nature  of  all  things  to  be  transformed 
into  blessing. 

It  finds  confirmation  in  physical  science. 
While  every  instinct  of  plant  or  animal  has 
its  correlative  reality  outside  of  it;  while 
every  hunger  has  somewhere  its  appropriate 
food;  while  every  rootlet  has  somewhere  its 
appropriate  soil ;  while,  if  there  should  float 
hither,  from  some  other  planet,  a  bit  of 
feather,  you  would  not  doubt  that  there  was 
an  atmosphere  there,  —  it  cannot  be 

tf  That  every  chick  of  every  bird, 
And  weed  and  rock-moss,  are  preferred  ;  M 

and  that  the  most  deeply  rooted,  the  most 
universal,  and  the  sublimest  instincts  of  man 
were  given  him  in  vain ;  that  he  has  the 
hungering  after  the  infinite  good,  when  there 
is  no  good  to  satisfy  it;  that  he  "sits  here 
shaping  wings  to  fly,"  when  there  is  no  space 
and  no  atmosphere  anywhere  in  which  he 


AND   SCIENCE   OF   FAITH     165 

may  use  these  wings.  Indeed,  the  faith  of 
science  and  religious  faith  imply  and  com- 
plete one  another ;  and  though  now  we 
have  to  take  each  to  a  certain  extent  by 
itself,  and  compare  the  one  with  the  other, 
it  will  doubtless  at  some  time  be  seen  that 
the  two  are  really  one ;  that  there  is  but  one 
faith  and  one  science. 

Religious  faith  finds  also  confirmation  in 
the  faith  and  testimony  of  the  truest  and 
best  souls,  in  the  fact  that  the  loftier  and 
truer  and  more  natural  the  soul,  the  more 
clearly  does  it  discern  the  perfect  goodness 
that  is  in  and  over  all  things;  that  Jesus,  the 
loftiest  and  the  best,  saw  this  the  most 
clearly ;  nay,  —  and  this  will  show  us  the 
circle  in  which  we  are  moving,  and  the  self- 
supporting  nature  of  this  faith  —  that  we 
recognize  him  as  the  loftiest  and  the  best, 
because  he  saw  this  the  most  clearly,  and 
lived  more  than  any  other  in  the  conscious- 
ness of  it. 

We  see  thus  the  relation  of  authority  to 
the  science  of  faith.  That  voice  has  most 
authority  to  the  soul  which  calls  forth  the 
fullest  and  strongest  response  from  its  best 
instincts  and  impulses.  This  is  what  Jesus 
meant  when  he  said,  "  My  sheep  hear  my 


166     THE   FAITH    OF   SCIENCE 

voice."  We  often  speak  as  if  the  Book  of 
Genesis  related  the  story  of  the  creation.  It 
does  not  profess  to  do  this.  It  puts  the  fact 
of  the  creation  far  back,  "in  the  beginning/' 
Its  story  begins  when  God  said,  "  Let  there 
be  light."  Its  story  is  not  of  creation,  but 
of  formation.  So  many  seem  to  believe  that 
Jesus  created  the  world  of  our  religious  faith 
and  confidence,  and  that  this  rests  suspended 
only  by  the  flat  of  his  will ;  but  the  spiritual 
heaven  and  earth  were  also  created  in  the 
beginning.  The  gospel  tells  no  story  of 
this  first  formation.  But,  though  this  world 
had  been  created,  it  "  was  without  form  and 
void,  and  darkness  rested  on  the  face  of  the 
deep  ; "  and,  though  the  spirit  of  God  moved 
over  the  face  of  the  waters,  it  found  no  rest 
or  recognition.  The  darkness  compre- 
hended it  not.  But  God,  through  the  lips 
of  Jesus,  said,  "  Let  there  be  light ;  and  there 
was  light."  The  world  rounded  itself  into 
completeness,  and  clothed  itself  with  beauti- 
ful life.  The  clear  heavens  wrapped  it  in, 
and  the  light  of  the  sun  glorified  it.  It  is 
no  wonder  that  this  should  seem  to  us  like 
a  creation. 

I  have  compared  in  many  points  what,  for 
convenience,  I  have  called  physical  science — 


AND   SCIENCE    OF   FAITH     167 

though  the  name  does  not  properly  include 
all  I  would  include  in  it  —  and  the  science 
of  religious  faith.  There  is  one  point  of 
great  difference.  The  former  finds  its 
strength  in  the  minuteness  of  its  application. 
The  more  thoroughly  and  definitely  it  can 
explain  every  little  fact,  the  more  perfect  is 
it.  The  science  of  faith  finds  its  strength  in 
the  largeness  of  its  application.  It  believes 
that  all  is  for  the  best.  Experience,  in  many 
ways,  confirms  this  faith ;  but  when  it  at- 
tempts to  show,  in  regard  to  everything, 
just  how  it  is  for  the  best,  it  falls  into  guesses 
and  dreams.  Its  scope,  in  regard  to  details, 
is  rather  practical  than  theoretical.  It  is 
safer  when  it  urges  that  we  should  make  the 
best  of  this  and  that,  than  when  it  under- 
takes to  say  precisely  what  God  meant  by 
this  or  that;  although,  now  and  then,  even 
this  last  flashes  into  the  light  of  certainty. 

But  though  the  science  of  faith  is,  like 
physical  science,  confined  within  circum- 
scribed limits,  yet  our  outward  life  and  our 
inward  life  are  both  made  up  largely  of  what 
is  not  strictly  scientific.  It  is  stated,  I  know 
not  with  what  truth,  that  the  greatest  natural- 
ist of  the  country  never  makes  a  prophecy  in 
regard  to  the  weather,  for  the  reason  that 


168     THE   FAITH    OF   SCIENCE 

the  science  of  meteorology  is  not  in  a  state 
to  justify  such  prophecy.  In  fact  we  have 
no  scientific  right  to  predict  a  change  of 
weather ;  yet  much  of  our  life  is  shaped  and 
guided  by  such  foreknowledge.  So,  in  our 
spiritual  life,  we  may  admit  much  that  is  not 
absolutely  scientific,  provided  it  does  not 
contradict  the  fundamental  principles  of  the 
science  of  faith.  There  is  left  space  for 
the  play  of  imagination,  for  the  dreams  of 
hope.  One  individual,  or  one  class  of  in- 
dividuals, will  need  and  will  use  this  privi- 
lege more  than  another.  One,  for  instance, 
will  look  forward  with  a  simple  and  quiet 
faith  into  the  future,  content  to  know  simply 
that  love  is  immortal  and  infinite;  another 
will  love  to  shape  a  heaven,  and  fill  it  with 
fair  shapes  of  blessedness.  Thus,  while  one 
may  be  calm  in  the  simplicity  of  his  great 
hope,  the  other  may  be  buoyant  and  enthu- 
siastic, fired  by  the  prospect  that  stretches 
in  clear  outline  and  coloring  before  him. 
They  are  like  an  elder  and  a  younger  brother 
approaching  together  the  home  they  love. 
One  walks  with  quiet  and  sober  tread ;  the 
other  leaps  and  dances  along  his  way.  The 
older  seems  to  the  younger  cold  and  in- 
different; the  younger  seems  to  the  older 


AND   SCIENCE   OF   FAITH     169 

childish  and  uncontrolled.  But  they  are 
brothers.  With  equal  love  and  equal  long- 
ing they  are  approaching  the  same  home, 
and  the  same  love  is  waiting  to  greet  them 
both. 


THE   PHILOSOPHY   OF   THE 
SUBLIME 


THE   PHILOSOPHY   OF   THE 
SUBLIME 

As  an  introduction  to  the  examination  that 
is  before  us  let  us,  in  imagination,  start  from 
the  mouth  of  the  river  Rhine,  and  follow 
the  stream  up  toward  its  source.  The  lower 
Rhine  in  itself  has  little  charm.  There  is, 
indeed,  always  a  beauty  in  water  and  shore, 
in  smiling  meadows,  and  in  the  over-arching 
sky.  In  the  lower  Rhine  there  is  added  to 
such  charm  the  quaintness  of  the  frequent 
windmills,  and  sometimes  an  interest  of 
architecture,  as  one  passes  through  towns 
and  villages.  But  nothing  of  all  this  would 
specially  attract  the  traveller.  At  Cologne 
begins  what  the  world  has  known  as  the 
beauty  of  the  Rhine.  Now  the  river  winds 
among  picturesque  hills  covered  with  vines 
or  forests  and  crowned,  often,  by  some 
crumbling  ruin.  This  beauty,  indeed,  is  not 
now  what  it  was.  The  river  has  been  pro- 
tected, and  at  the  same  time  humiliated,  by 
embankments.     The  forestjs  have  been  cut 


174  THE   PHILOSOPHY 

away.  Modern  buildings  stare  upon  us 
more  and  more  from  the  shores  and  the  hill- 
sides that  had  been  sacred  to  the  past.  The 
clay  color  of  the  water  seems  more  fitted  to 
the  present  surroundings  than  it  did  to  the 
picturesqueness  of  the  former  times.  I  can 
now  almost  remember  it  as  yellow,  which 
I  could  not  in  earlier  years,  when  memory 
at  least  painted  the  water  to  make  it  corre- 
spond with  the  beauty  through  which  it 
flowed.  In  spite  of  all  this,  the  middle 
Rhine  is  beautiful,  and,  if  we  criticise  it,  it  is 
only  when  we  compare  it  with  its  former 
self.  Pressing  upward  we  reach  the  region 
of  the  Via  Mala.  Here  the  scene  has 
changed.  The  stream,  white  with  the  foam 
of  its  haste,  presses  along  the  narrow  channel 
which  it  has  formed  for  itself  between  pre- 
cipitous walls  of  rock.  We  look  down  at 
the  river  and  it  seems  so  far  beneath  us ! 
We  look  up,  and  the  steep  rocky  walls  rise 
above  us  towards  the  heavens.  We  look 
around,  and  are  shut  in  on  every  side  as  our 
course,  following  that  of  the  current  so  far 
below,  winds  through  this  massive  masonry 
of  nature.  On  the  summit  of  the  lofty 
mountain  which  forms  one  side  of  the  en- 
trance to  this  chasm  stand  the  ruins  of  the 


OF   THE    SUBLIME 


*75 


old  castle  of  Rhetius,  which  from  above  looks 
down  upon  the  winding  way,  dominating  it 
from  its  height. 

Lower  down  the  stream  we  had  simply 
delight  in  watching  the  beauty  through  which 
we  passed,  save  now  and  then  when  some 
sterner  height  and  narrower  passage  gave  to 
our  delight  a  touch  of  awe.  Here  there  is 
still  gladness ;  but  the  awe  has  become  more 
profound.  Indeed,  we  call  the  scene  awful 
rather  than  beautiful.  Beauty  has  passed 
into  sublimity. 

Examples  like  this  might  lead  to  the 
thought  that  sublimity  is  only  an  intenser 
form  of  the  beautiful,  so  that  one  passes 
through  beauty  to  reach  sublimity.  Other 
examples,  however,  suggest  different  results. 
Let  us  compare,  for  instance,  Mount  Vesu- 
vius and  Mont  Blanc.  Mont  Blanc  is  an 
example  of  sublimity  developed  out  of 
beauty.  The  mighty  mass  of  rock  and  ice 
and  snow  that  overpowers  us  by  its  vastness 
is  largely  made  up  of  what  on  a  smaller  scale 
is  simply  beautiful.  Snow,  so  long  as  it  pre- 
serves its  purity,  is  beautiful  under  whatever 
relations  it  may  be  viewed.  It  is  beautiful 
when  it  clothes  a  stretch  of  hill  and  plain 
with  its  whiteness.     It  is  beautiful  when  it 


176  THE   PHILOSOPHY 

drapes  the  pines  which  bow  beneath  the 
burden.  It  is  beautiful  when  the  separate 
flakes,  with  their  delicate  crystalline  forma- 
tion, rest  upon  the  sleeve.  In  the  snow 
mountain  we  have  only  another  form  of  the 
same  beauty.  But  there  is  Mount  Vesuvius 
as  well  as  Mont  Blanc.  If  Mont  Blanc 
shows  the  sublimity  to  which  beauty  may 
attain,  Vesuvius  shows  that  sublimity  is  pos- 
sible when  there  is  no  touch  of  beauty.  In 
Mont  Blanc  we  have  the  sublimity  of  light, 
in  Mount  Vesuvius  that  of  darkness.  As 
we  reach  the  summit  it  is  black  and  lifeless. 
No  bird  finds  its  way  through  the  sulphurous 
air.  In  spite  of,  or  through,  this  wildness 
of  desolation,  we  receive  an  impression  of 
sublimity  equal  at  least  to  that  which  the 
fairest  snow  mountain  may  furnish.  If  we 
repeat  the  experiment  which  we  tried  in  the 
case  of  Mont  Blanc,  and  reduce  this  upper 
portion  of  Mount  Vesuvius  to  the  elements 
of  which  it  consists,  and  reduce  these  to  the 
dimensions  under  which  we  ordinarily  meet 
them,  we  should  have  before  us  nothing 
more  beautiful  than  an  ash-heap. 

There  is,  indeed,  another  way  of  reducing 
the  mountain  till  it  loses  its  sublimity,  and 
that  is  by  distance.     As  seen  from  Castella- 


OF   THE    SUBLIME 


177 


mare,  across  the  Bay  of  Naples,  its  mighty 
bulk  made  ethereal  by  the  distance  and  by 
the  soft  Italian  atmosphere,  its  graceful  shape, 
surmounted  by  its  flag  of  smoke,  harmonizes 
well  with  the  general  beauty  of  the  scene. 
It  has,  however,  changed  its  character  by 
the  process.  The  rudeness  and  desolateness 
which  gave  to  it  its  sublimity  have  been 
refined  away. 

The  sublime  may  thus  be  produced  by 
elements  that  in  themselves  are  beautiful,  and 
by  those  that  are  the  opposite  of  beautiful. 
The  relation  between  beauty  and  sublimity 
might,  then,  seem  to  be  wholly  accidental. 
Our  common  thought  and  speech,  however, 
contradict  this  assumption.  The  two  are 
spoken  of  together.  We  say  "  The  beauti- 
ful and  the  sublime."  Our  scientific  thought 
unites  them  precisely  as  our  superficial 
thought  does.  Our  treatises  on  aesthetics 
discuss  sublimity  as  they  discuss  beauty. 
The  two  are  thus  placed  side  by  side,  as 
dividing  the  aesthetic  world  between  them. 
Even  Kant,  who  distinguished  them  most 
sharply  from  one  another,  making  them  as 
antithetical  to  one  another  as  subject  and 
object,  spirit  and  matter,  even  he  treats  them 
in  the  same  connection ;  and  by  their  posi- 


12 


178  THE   PHILOSOPHY 

tion  in  his  discussion  seems  practically  to 
deny  this  heterogeneity. 

The  work  of  Kant  has  been  so  influential 
in  the  development  of  modern  thought  upon 
this  theme,  and  brings  out  so  emphatically 
one  view  of  sublimity  which,  whether  we 
accept  it  or  not  as  true,  we  must  admit  to 
be  in  itself  sublime,  that  we  shall  do  well  to 
give  some  consideration  to  it. 

We  are  met  first  by  the  startling  fact  that 
Kant,  so  far  as  his  system  was  concerned, 
recognized  no  outward  object  as  sublime. 
Here  he  makes  that  grand  distinction  between 
beauty  and  sublimity  to  which  I  just  referred. 
The  seat  of  beauty  is  in  the  outward  world  ; 
that  of  sublimity  is  in  the  soul.  The  out- 
ward object  may  be  beautiful,  but  there  is  no 
sublimity  save  in  the  spiritual  world.  The 
sense  of  sublimity  is  awakened  when  the 
soul,  startled  or  stimulated  by  certain  out- 
ward objects,  recoils  upon  itself,  and  feels 
the  grandeur  of  its  own  nature  and  the  awe 
which  the  spiritual  world  alone  can  produce. 

Kant  recognizes  two  forms  of  sublimity ; 
one  he  calls  mathematical,  the  other  dynamic. 
One  is  produced  by  the  contemplation  of 
vastness,  the  other  by  that  of  power.  An 
object  produces  the  effect  of  sublimity  by  its 


OF  THE   SUBLIME 


79 


vastness  when  the  mind  finds  it  impossible 
to  represent  by  the  imagination  the  extent 
which  it  recognizes  as  really  existing.  The 
understanding  finds  some  unit  of  measure- 
ment which  it  applies  successively,  pressing 
from  point  to  point  as  it  strives  to  compre- 
hend the  vastness  which  it  studies.  The 
imagination  tries  to  keep  pace  with  it,  repre- 
senting its  results  under  some  form  which 
can  be  contemplated  as  a  whole.  Striving 
to  grasp  the  result  of  the  advancing  measure- 
ments, however,  it  loses  that  already  reached. 
It  can  only  put  so  much  into  its  picture. 
When  it  strives  to  do  more  it  loses  what  it 
has  gained.  It  is  thus  bewildered  and  made 
dizzy  by  the  sweeping  before  it  of  what  it 
cannot  apprehend.  This  practical  immeas- 
urableness  of  the  object  which  is  beheld, 
this  impotence  of  the  imagination  to  keep 
pace  with  the  understanding,  suggests  the 
idea  of  the  infinite.  The  reason  stretches 
out  after  this  idea  of  infinitude.  It  holds 
the  idea  even  if  it  can  never  fully  grasp  or 
represent  it.  It  feels  not  only  that  no  im- 
agination can  picture  it,  and  that  no  measure- 
ment can  exhaust  it ;  it  feels  that  no  object 
in  the  external  world  can  manifest  it.  The 
soul  has  thus  a  sense  of  its  exaltation  over 


180  THE   PHILOSOPHY 

whatever  the  material  universe  contains.  It 
has  an  idea  which  would  bankrupt  the  uni- 
verse should  this  undertake  to  show  it  forth. 
It  is  this  sense  of  the  loftiness  of  the  spiritual 
nature  which  constitutes,  according  to  Kant, 
the  feeling  of  sublimity.  We  call  the  outer 
object  sublime,  simply  by  the  force  of  asso- 
ciation, because  in  connection  with  it  we 
experience  the  power  of  sublimity.  The 
outer  object,  however,  is  not  sublime.  The 
soul  and  the  inconceivable  powers  which 
manifest  themselves  in  and  through  it  are  all 
which  can  properly  be  spoken  of  as  sublime. 
The  other  form  of  the  sublime  recognized 
by  Kant  is  the  dynamic.  The  sense  of  it 
arises  when  we  find  ourselves  in  the  presence 
of  the  mighty  forces  of  nature,  and  feel  how 
helpless  we  should  be  if  exposed  to  their 
power.  Even,  however,  with  the  feeling  of 
this  helplessness  in  the  conflict  thus  repre- 
sented by  the  imagination  comes  the  sense 
of  something  which  these  destructive  forces 
cannot  reach.  The  spirit  feels  that  by  its 
lofty  nature  and  the  relations  in  which  it 
stands  to  the  infinite  and  the  eternal  it  is 
raised  far  above  the  forces  of  the  material 
world.  Its  real  substance  cannot  be  touched 
by  them.     Thus,  even  in  the  defeat  which 


OF   THE    SUBLIME  181 

the  imagination  pictures  as  the  outer  man 
is  crushed  by  these  relentless  powers  of 
nature,  comes  a  sense  of  victory  in  the  feel- 
ing that  the  real  man  cannot  be  touched 
by  them. 

This  relation  to  the  outer  world  might 
have  been  put  more  strongly  than  it  is  by 
Kant.  The  peril,  as  he  describes  it,  is 
imaginary.  There  have  been,  however,  those 
who  in  a  storm  at  sea  have  lost  all  sense  of 
danger  in  the  exultation  produced  by  the 
play  of  the  mighty  forces  in  the  midst  of 
which  they  stood.  The  ship  was  like  a  mere 
cockleshell  upon  the  waves,  rolled  and  tossed 
by  them  till  it  seemed  almost  impossible 
that  it  should  escape  uncrushed.  These 
brave  men,  sometimes,  indeed,  brave  women, 
have  remained  in  the  midst  of  the  peril, 
lashed  for  safety  to  the  mast,  forgetful  of 
everything  save  the  magnificence  of  the 
scene.  According  to  Kant,  the  joy  that  they 
felt  arose  from  the  sense  of  their  own  exalta- 
tion above  the  wildness  of  the  wind  and  the 
sea.  The  tempest-tossed  ocean,  according 
to  Kant,  is  simply  horrible.  No  pleasure 
can  come  from  contemplating  it.  The  sat- 
isfaction that  the  scene  brings  is  that  of  the 
sublimity  of  the  spirit    that   can    survey   it 


182  THE   PHILOSOPHY 

undismayed.  This  dignity  is  not  of  the 
spirit  in  its  mere  individuality,  but  as  it 
represents  the  spiritual  forces  of  the  universe 
to  which  it  is  akin. 

This,  freely  stated,  is  Kant's  theory  of  the 
sublime.  In  reading  it  one  has  a  sense 
of  sublimity,  which,  superficially  considered, 
might  be  regarded  as  a  testimony  to  its  truth. 
If  one  recalls,  however,  one's  own  experience 
in  the  matter,  it  will  be  found  that  this  sub- 
jective exaltation,  resulting  from  a  recoil 
upon  one's  self  and  from  a  sense  of  spiritual 
and  moral  realities,  does  not  exhaust,  and 
does  not  always  accompany,  the  manifesta- 
tions of  sublimity.  In  point  of  fact  Kant 
himself  would  seem  to  have  forgotten  his 
theory  when  in  the  presence  of  the  sublimi- 
ties of  nature,  and  to  have  felt  emotions  of 
the  sublime  for  which  his  theory  hardly  had 
a  place.  There  is  a  passage  in  his  works 
which  is  familiar  to  many  to  whom  all  else 
he  has  written  is  a  sealed  book.  It  is  one 
of  the  very  few  passages  in  which  he  rises 
into  eloquence,  and  it  is  the  most  eloquent 
of  them  all.  It  is  interesting  to  see  in  it  how 
even  his  long  and  involved  sentences  can 
catch  a  glow  from  the  emotion  that  utters 
itself  through  them,  so  that  one  forgets  their 


OF   THE   SUBLIME  183 

involution  until  one  attempts  to  translate 
them  into  an  equivalent  English  speech.  It 
is  the  passage  in  which  he  speaks  of  the  two 
objects  of  sublimity  which  fill  the  soul  with 
a  deeper  awe  the  oftener  that  we  contem- 
plate them :  one,  the  starry  heavens  above ; 
the  other,  the  moral  law  within.  He  pictures 
the  relations  into  which  we  are  brought  by 
each.  The  contemplation  of  the  starry 
heavens  makes  us  see  ourselves  in  a  vast 
material  universe,  in  which  the  world  on 
which  we  stand  is  but  a  point.  The  spirit 
feels  itself  annihilated  by  the  thought.  The 
moral  law,  on  the  other  hand,  brings  the 
spirit  into  relation  in  which  every  act  has 
infinite  worth,  compared  with  which  the 
external  universe  is  as  nothing.  In  this 
passage  it  is  noticeable  that  we  have  two 
objects  of  sublimity,  whereas  according  to 
the  theory  of  Kant  there  should  be  but  one. 
The  external  nature  should  have  been  sublime 
because  it  arouses  the  sense  of  the  grandeur 
of  the  moral  law;  whereas,  in  the  passage, 
the  starry  heavens  are  in  themselves  sublime. 
It  may  be  said,  indeed,  that  in  this  passage 
Kant  simply  uses  the  common  mode  of 
speech,  as  he  does  so  often.  There  seems, 
however,  a  genuineness  and  a  passion  in  this 


i84  THE    PHILOSOPHY 

outburst  of  enthusiasm  which  makes  it  ap- 
pear a  naive  expression  of  actual  feeling  and 
not  a  mere  "facon  de  parler" 

It  is  a  little  singular  that  Kant,  who  ex- 
perienced so  intensely  the  sense  of  sublimity, 
should  have  failed  to  perceive  its  real  nature, 
while  Hegel,  who  stated  somewhat  more 
truly  the  relation  in  which  this  sense  stands 
to  the  outer  world,  should  appear  to  have 
been  utterly  devoid  of  the  actual  experience 
of  it,  so  far,  at  least,  as  anything  except 
intellectual  and  spiritual  realities  are  con- 
cerned. The  attempt  to  realize  the  endless- 
ness of  eternity  by  setting  up  one  distant 
limit  after  another,  only  to  see  that  we  are 
no  nearer  the  conception  of  eternity  than  we 
were  at  the  start,  was  to  him  simply  tedious. 
The  worlds  on  worlds  which  astronomy  re- 
veals were  not  to  him  sublime.  He  found 
sublimity  only  in  the  laws  by  which  these 
worlds  are  governed. 

In  his  more  formal  treatment  of  the  theme 
Hegel  found  sublimity  in  the  fact  that  the 
objects  which  we  call  sublime  suggest  the 
power  which  is  manifesting  itself  in  them  and 
in  all  things,  but  which  they  are  utterly  un- 
able to  fully  show  forth.  We  have  thus  a 
suggestion  of  the  Infinite.     There  is  in  this, 


OF   THE   SUBLIME  185 

however,  little  that  is   characteristic    of  his 
thought. 

Hegel's  real  view  of  sublimity  comes  out 
most  clearly  in  his  discussions  in  regard  to 
religion,  and  especially  in  regard  to  art. 
It  may  be  freely  expressed  as  follows :  In 
the  beautiful  object  form  and  content,  the 
expression  and  the  thing  to  be  expressed, 
the  universal  and  the  individual  are  in  com- 
plete accord.  The  type  is  fulfilled  in  the 
exemplar.  In  the  sublime,  on  the  contrary, 
the  universal  meets  us  in  its  bare  abstract- 
ness.  To  put  the  thing  more  simply  and 
concretely,  in  beauty  the  elements  and  forces 
of  nature  exhibit  themselves  in  harmoni- 
ous relations.  The  power  that  is  in  nature 
comes  near  to  us.  It  manifests  itself  in  cer- 
tain details,  harmoniously  related,  so  that 
it  is  easy  of  apprehension.  In  sublimity 
these  elements  and  forces  manifest  them- 
selves each  for  itself.  We  have  fewer  details 
that  lead  us  on  to  the  easy  apprehension  of 
their  presence.  A  mountain  that  presents 
itself  with  precipitous  and  barren  sides  affects 
us  as  sublime ;  while  the  same  height  which 
should  arise  with  gradual  undulations,  and 
should  be  clothed  with  verdure,  might  strike 
us  as  simply  beautiful.     The  uninterrupted 


186  THE   PHILOSOPHY 

waste  of  the  sea  may  be  sublime ;  but  where 
it  is  strewn  with  islands  covered  with  grass 
or  foliage  it  may  be  beautiful.  In  sublimity 
the  face  of  nature  meets  us  with  blank  stern- 
ness ;  in  beauty  it  breaks  into  smiles.  Thus, 
among  the  followers  of  Hegel,  Solger  defines 
sublimity  as  "  Beauty  in  the  making  " ;  and 
Vischer  affirms  the  sublime  and  the  comic  to 
be  the  differentiated  elements  of  which  beauty 
consists ;  the  one  being  the  universal  apart 
from  the  individual  ;  the  other  the  individual 
emptied  of  the  universal. 

The  theories  of  Kant  and  Hegel  in  regard 
to  the  sublime  are  the  most  important  and 
interesting  that  have  been  offered  on  this 
theme.  They,  however,  by  no  means  stand 
alone.  A  multitude  of  others  grow  out 
from  them,  or  twine  about  them,  or  have 
sprung  up  in  their  shadow.  Dr.  Arthur 
Seidl  has  recently  brought  them  together 
in  an  interesting  monograph.1  They  are 
mostly,  as  Seidl  intimates,  formed  to  suit 
the  exigencies  of  some  general  system  in 
which  they  have  their  place.  Even  includ- 
ing the  theories  of  Kant  and,  to  some  extent, 
that  of  Hegel,  I  confess  that  they  seem  to 

1  Zur  Geschichte  des  Erhabenkeitsbegriffes  sett  Kant. 
Leipzig,    1889. 


OF   THE   SUBLIME  187 

me  for  the  most  part  creations  of  the  study, 
rather  than  open-air  growths  springing  out 
of  the  facts  of  experience. 

I  propose  to  consider  certain  assumptions 
which  are  made  in  so  many  of  these  systems, 
including  those  that  we  have  examined,  that 
they  seem  to  pass  for  commonplaces. 

A  position  that  is  very  generally  taken  is 
that  the  sense  of  the  sublime  is  produced  by 
a  suggestion  of  the  infinite.  Even  Seidl,  the 
latest  writer  upon  this  theme,  insists  upon 
this.  I  confess  I  do  not  quite  know  what  is 
meant  by  this  suggestion  of  the  infinite  of 
which  we  hear  so  much  in  various  relations. 
Max  Miiller  and  others  insist  that  all  re- 
ligions, the  lower  as  well  as  the  higher,  are 
the  results  simply  of  a  sense  of  the  infinite. 
So  here  the  sublime  involves  the  idea  of  the 
infinite.  In  both  cases  the  use  of  the  term 
needs  explanation.  If  it  means  that  in  con- 
nection with  the  sublime,  or  in  religion,  man 
loses  the  sense  of  limit,  whether  this  is  true 
or  false,  it  is  something  different  from  a 
positive  sense  of  infinitude.  The  bird,  the 
beast,  and  the  child  have  no  sense  of  the 
limit  of  life.  The  bird  and  the  beast  have 
no  knowledge  of  such  a  limit,  and  the  child 
has   no   thought  of  it  and   no   belief  in  it. 


188  THE    PHILOSOPHY 

This,  however,  is  very  different  from  a  con- 
sciousness of  infinitude.  In  point  of  fact, 
the  idea  of  infinitude  would  seem  to  be  a 
very  late  product  of  the  human  mind ;  and 
I  conceive  that  there  can  be  no  sense  of  the 
infinite  before  this  idea  has  been  more  or 
less  consciously  reached.  Even  after  the 
idea  of  the  infinite  has  been  reached,  I  con- 
ceive that  neither  it  nor  the  undefined  sense 
of  it  is  often  present  to  the  soul,  even  in  the 
case  of  religion.  The  minds  of  men  deal 
with  the  concrete.  They  deal  with  the 
undetermined,  it  is  true.  This  may  produce 
the  sense  of  a  vague  vastness,  but  this  is  not 
the  infinite.  Even  though  one  may  be 
shocked  by  the  thought  of  a  limit,  it  does 
not  follow  that  one  has  had  the  sense  of  the 
unlimited.  That  the  feeling  and  the  thought 
of  the  infinite  may  sometimes  be  suggested 
by  the  sublime  object  cannot  be  doubted. 
This  may  be,  for  instance,  the  case  when  the 
limit  of  this  object  is  beyond  our  vision  as 
well  as  beyond  our  apprehension.  This  is 
the  case  sometimes  in  the  vision  of  the  ocean 
or  the  sky.  We  see  no  boundary,  and  the 
actual  limit  is  too  far  away  for  our  distinct 
apprehension.  The  thought  is  thus  tempted 
to  a  quest  that  seems  endless. 


OF   THE   SUBLIME  189 

A  misapprehension  that  is  bound  up  with 
the  one  just  named  is  that  the  sense  of 
sublimity  is,  more  than  that  of  beauty,  the 
result  of  reflection.  When  it  is  produced 
by  the  thought  of  the  infinite  it  is  obviously 
the  product  of  reflection.  From  this  point 
of  view,  a  man's  recognition  of  the  sublime 
will  be  limited  only  by  his  power  of  insight 
and  association.  There  is  nothing  so  humble 
that  it  may  not  become  the  expression  of 
sublimity.  To  Tennyson  the  "flower  in 
the  crannied  wall "  is  sublime,  for  it  repre- 
sents the  universe.  Wordsworth  could 
exclaim  :  — 

*'  To  me  the  meanest  flower  that  blows  can  give 
Thoughts  that  do  often  lie  too  deep  for  tears." 

The  effect  of  sublimity  may,  however,  be  as 
direct  as  that  of  beauty.  The  sublime  ob- 
ject may  check  thought  instead  of  inspiring 
it.  The  very  word  "  stupendous  "  illustrates 
this  aspect  of  the  case.  The  spirit  may  rest 
lost  in  the  grandeur  of  the  object  of  its 
contemplation. 

Another  point  in  which  there  seems  to  me 
to  have  been  a  frequent  misapprehension  is 
the  relation  between  sublimity  and  beauty. 
It  has  been  commonly  assumed  that  when 


190  THE   PHILOSOPHY 

an  object  is  sublime  it  is  no  longer  beautiful. 
Thus  definitions  have  been  sought  that 
should  sharply  discriminate  the  one  from  the 
other.  I  conceive  that  the  sublime  object  is 
as  often,  perhaps  more  often,  at  the  same 
time  beautiful.  It  may  under  certain  cir- 
cumstances be  terrible  as  well  as  beautiful. 
The  tiger  is  none  the  less  beautiful  because 
it  is  terrible. 

To  understand  the  relation  between  the 
sublime  and  the  beautiful  we  need  to  con- 
sider for  a  moment  what  it  is  that  constitutes 
beauty.  Without  making  an  analysis  of  the 
matter,  it  may  be  stated  that  beauty  is  the 
manifestation  of  the  ideal  in  the  real.  Thus 
we  have  about  us  the  general  life  of  nature ; 
we  have  this  life  as  it  concentrates  itself  in 
individual  forms ;  we  have  the  higher  mani- 
festation of  it  in  spiritual  ideals.  Without 
dwelling  upon  this  matter,  which  cannot  here 
be  adequately  discussed,  we  need  merely 
notice  that  the  manifestation  of  the  forces 
of  nature  which  cause  the  sense  of  sublimity 
belongs  to  this  general  scheme. 

Beauty  and  sublimity  may  be  classed  to- 
gether under  both  a  general  and  a  special 
aspect.  In  the  first  place,  they  are  both 
forms    of  contemplation.       In    the    second 


OF   THE   SUBLIME  191 

place,  this  contemplation  is  accompanied  by 
a  delight  in  which  there  is  no  reference  to 
self.  In  beauty  self  may  be  simply  for- 
gotten. In  sublimity  it  may  be  set  at  naught. 
In  beauty  we  have  such  sympathy  with 
nature  that  we  rejoice  in  its  free  life  as  if  it 
were  our  own.  In  sublimity  we  rejoice  in 
the  might  and  vastness  of  the  outward  world 
as  if  it  were  our  own.  I  use  here  the  term 
outward  world  in  its  largest  significance,  and 
include  all  objects  of  contemplation,  the 
spiritual  as  well  as  the  material. 

The  common  assumption  that  when  an 
object  is  sublime  it  cannot  be  beautiful  rests 
upon  the  notion  that  certain  conditions  are 
essential  to  sublimity  which  are  fatal  to 
beauty.  These  conditions  are  most  often 
expressed  in  the  saying  that  beauty  requires 
form,  while  sublimity  is  best  manifested  in 
the  formless.  According  to  Kant,  chaos 
would  be  the  highest  exhibition  of  the  sub- 
lime. The  word  "  form  "  as  used  in  this  con- 
nection has  sometimes  been  misunderstood. 
Even  Vischer  urges  that  everything  has 
form.  "  The  hippopotamus  has  a  form,  but 
what  a  form  it  is ! "  By  form  is  meant  a 
proportion  among  the  various  parts  that  per- 
mits them  to  be  taken  together  as  a  unity  in 


i92  THE  PHILOSOPHY 

which  the  ideal  that  the  object  represents  is 
distinctly  manifested.  The  hippopotamus 
is  formless  in  the  sense  that  in  it  the  unity 
of  life  is  not  distinctly  manifested  as  in,  for 
instance,  the  antelope.  The  reason  that  the 
formless  has  been  regarded  as  the  best 
medium  of  sublimity  is  the  fact  that  it  is 
difficult  to  realize  the  vastness  of  a  structure, 
all  the  parts  of  which  are  perfectly  propor- 
tioned to  one  another.  Many  have  thus 
expressed  disappointment  at  the  first  im- 
pression produced  by  the  basilica  of  St. 
Peter  at  Rome,  and  by  Niagara  Falls.  So 
far  as  the  Basilica  is  concerned,  many  doubt- 
less leave  it  with  no  real  sense  of  its  immen- 
sity. When,  however,  by  closer  study  one 
has  come  to  feel  some  sense  of  the  actual 
vastness  of  the  pile,  the  perfection  of  its  form 
does  not  at  all  lessen  the  recognition  of  its 
sublimity.  In  my  first  visit  to  Rome  as  a 
youth  I  reached  this  impression  in  a  manner 
hardly  compatible  with  the  conventional 
dignity  of  more  mature  years,  namely,  by 
lying  on  my  back  on  the  pavement  and 
gazing  up  into  the  dome.  As  I  gazed  it 
expanded  and  soared,  till  I  had  some  real 
sense,  however  imperfect,  of  its  magnitude. 
A  yet  more  intense  feeling  of  the  same 


OF   THE    SUBLIME  193 

kind  has  been  doubtless  produced  in  most 
by  lying  and  looking  up  into  the  sky.  In 
this  case  the  effect  is  deepened,  not  merely 
by  the  immeasurably  greater  breadth  and 
height  of  the  object  contemplated,  but  also 
by  the  fact  that  the  sky  does  not  seem,  like 
the  dome  of  the  temple,  a  solid  arch,  but 
it  tempts  the  eye  to  penetrate  it. 

It  is  thus  true  that  a  certain  formlessness 
or  disproportion  makes  the  sense  of  sublimity 
more  easy  to  be  reached.  We  see  this  in 
the  play  of  the  mighty  forces  of  nature.  We 
see  it  in  abrupt  and  jagged  precipices,  and  in 
the  terrible  might  of  the  tempest.  The  same 
is  true  in  life.  It  is  easier  to  feel  the  power 
that  shows  itself  in  destruction  than  that 
which  shows  itself  in  construction.  Men 
stand  more  in  awe  of  Julius  Caesar  who 
raged  through  the  earth,  conquering  every 
foe  that  rose  against  him,  than  of  Augustus, 
who  reared  the  magnificent  structure  of  the 
Roman  Empire.  Only  by  careful  thought 
and  observation,  like  those  which  make  us 
feel  the  stupendous  nature  of  St.  Peter's,  can 
we  realize  that  the  career  of  Augustus  Caesar 
is  one  of  the  most  sublime  that  the  world 
has  seen.  In  like  manner  it  is  more  easy  to 
feel  the  sublimity  of  a  partial,  than  of  a  com- 
13 


i94  THE    PHILOSOPHY 

plete,  nature ;  of  sin  than  of  virtue.  Byron 
impresses  the  superficial  imagination  as  nearer 
sublimity  than  Wordsworth,  the  Satan  of 
Milton  as  more  sublime  than  his  Deity. 

The  same  distinction  meets  us  in  literature. 
In  the  "  Paracelsus  "  of  Browning  we  have 
in  Paracelsus  and  Aprile  the  two  halves  of 
an  ideal  humanity.  Paracelsus,  who  would 
know  and  only  know,  looms  vaster  than 
human  through  this  very  imperfection.  In 
the  same  poem  we  have  vast  and  vague  the 
personification  of  the  human  race,  as  it  grad- 
ually awakens  to  full  consciousness  and 
strength :  — 

"  O  long  ago 
The  brow  was  twitched,  the  tremulous  lids  astir, 
The  peaceful  mouth  disturbed  ;  half  uttered  speech 
Ruffled  the  lip,  and  then  the  teeth  were  set, 
The  breath  drawn  sharp,  the  strong  right  hand  clenched 

stronger, 
As  it  would  pluck  a  lion  by  the  jaw  ; 
The  glorious  creature  laughed  out  even  in  sleep  ! 
But  when  full  roused,  each  giant-limb  awake, 
Each  sinew  strung,  the  great  heart  pulsing  fast, 
He  shall  start  up  and  stand  on  his  own  earth, 
Thence  shall  his  being  date,  —  thus  wholly  roused, 
What  he  achieves  shall  be  set  down  to  him.,, 

The  rude  strength  of  Michael  Angelo  pro- 
duces an  effect  of  sublimity  that  could  hardly 


OF   THE    SUBLIME 


l95 


be  reached  by  more  delicately  finished  work. 
Longfellow's  poem  on  "The  Lighthouse" 
affords  a  striking  example  of  the  effect  that 
may  be  produced  by  a  few  strong  touches 
and  the  omission  of  all  minor  details,  when 
the  object  that  is  represented  is  in  itself 
sublime.  Especially  is  this  effect  seen  in 
the  second  of  the  two  following  lines  :  — 

"  The  sea-bird  wheeling  round  it,  with  the  din 
Of  wings  and  winds  and  solitary  cries/' 

We  may  thus  understand  the  effect  of 
obscurity  in  heightening  the  sense  of  sub- 
limity. In  a  vast  cathedral,  where  all  the 
details  are  visible  in  the  light  of  the  morn- 
ing, the  effect  of  sublimity  is  much  less  felt 
than  in  the  dimness  of  the  closing  day,  when 
the  arches  seem  to  soar  the  loftier  because 
their  outline  shows  itself  apart  from  the 
lighter  ornamentation  that  somewhat  lessens 
their  effect.  The  sea,  also,  seems  sometimes 
more  sublime  in  the  night,  when  we  can  only 
hear  the  rote  of  the  surf,  than  it  did  when  it 
stretched  before  us  in  the  broad  light  of 
day.  When  its  wider  expanse  is  hidden  by 
a  mist,  and  we  can  see  only  the  line  of  waves 
breaking  upon  the  beach,  it  seems  often 
more  sublime  than  when  the  sight  can  follow 


196  THE    PHILOSOPHY 

it  to  the  horizon's  edge.  The  Jungfrau 
mountain  is  never  so  sublime  as  when  its 
base  and  its  flanks  are  wrapped  with  clouds, 
and  the  summit  alone  is  seen,  looking  down 
upon  us  almost  from  the  mid-heaven. 

It  will  be  noticed  that  while  a  certain 
vagueness  may  sometimes  make  the  sublime 
easier  of  apprehension,  this  vagueness  must 
always  exist  in  connection  with  something 
clearly  defined.  The  imagination  always 
needs  a  definite  stimulus.  It  is  sometimes 
forgotten  that  there  cannot  be  even  mystery 
without  knowledge.  The  clearer  the  knowl- 
edge the  deeper  the  mystery  which  it  sug- 
gests. The  same  must  be  true  of  that 
sublimity  which  springs  from  mystery.  We 
thus  may  understand  something  of  the  power 
of  music  to  aid  in  the  production  of  sublime 
effects.  It  is  on  the  one  side  so  sharply 
defined,  and  on  the  other  so  vague  and 
boundless,  that  it  may  easily  produce  an 
impression  of  sublimity.  It  is  especially 
fitted  to  assist  in  the  production  of  a  feeling 
of  the  supernatural,  of  the  presence  of  some- 
thing which  the  imagination  cannot  picture. 
In  saying  this  I  have  had  in  mind  its  use  in 
one  of  Wagner's  operas,  for  instance ;  or  in 
any  case  where  the  supernatural  content  is 


OF   THE    SUBLIME  197 

vaguely  suggested.  A  like  effect  may,  how- 
ever, sometimes  be  produced  by  the  music 
itself  with  no  suggestion  from  without,  as 
sometimes  in  a  symphony. 

I  have  wished  thus  to  do  justice  to  the 
truth  there  is  in  the  theories  that  make  the 
formless  and  the  vague  elements  of  the  sub- 
lime. Under  certain  circumstances  they  do 
make  the  apprehension  of  the  sublime  more 
easy.  They  are,  however,  not  the  essential 
conditions  of  it ;  and  it  is,  I  conceive,  wholly 
a  mistake  to  find  in  these  a  distinction  be- 
tween beauty  and  sublimity.  In  the  first 
place,  the  beautiful  may  be  as  formless  as 
the  sublime.  How  charming  is  some  moun- 
tain cataract  with  the  spray  blown  into  irregu- 
lar and  changing  shapes  at  its  feet !  How 
wilfully  the  brook  plays  along  its  course!  — 

"  I  slip,  I  slide,  I  gloom,  I  glance 
Among  my  skimming  swallows  ; 
I  make  the  netted  sunbeams  dance 
Against  my  sandy  shallows.' ' 

Thus  does  Tennyson  interpret  the  music 
of  the  brook ;  and  the  very  waywardness 
and  formlessness  create  its  charm. 

In  the  second  place  the  sublime  is  often, 
I  am  inclined  to  think  most  often,  beautiful. 


198  THE   PHILOSOPHY 

We  may  take  what  examples  we  will,  and  we 
find  sublimity  continually  clothing  itself  in 
beauty.  What  could  be  more  sublime,  and 
what  could  be  more  beautiful,  than  the  snow 
mountains  of  Switzerland  ?  Shall  we  call 
the  Falls  of  Niagara  sublime  or  beautiful? 
Certainly  they  are  both.  If  there  is  sub- 
limity anywhere  it  is  there ;  and  yet  one 
often  feels  the  supreme  beauty  more  than 
the  sublimity.  Even  when  one  stands  at  the 
very  foot  of  the  falls  by  the  Cave  of  the 
Winds,  and  is  lashed  by  their  spray,  and 
deafened  by  their  roar,  even  then  one  feels 
no  less  their  ethereal  beauty ;  and  the  circling 
rainbow  in  the  centre  of  which  one  stands 
seems  the  natural  interpreter  of  the  whole. 
Never  did  I  feel  the  sublime  to  be  more 
beautiful  than  at  my  first  vision  of  these 
falls.  It  was  in  the  evening,  and  guided 
simply  by  their  roar  I  found  myself  suddenly 
looking  down  upon  them.  Below,  the 
depths  were  black  in  the  night,  except  for 
the  glory  of  the  whiteness  and  sparkle  of  the 
descending  waters,  while  over  them  hovered 
a  perfect  lunar  rainbow.  In  such  a  pres- 
ence the  beauty  adds  to  the  sublimity.  The 
plunging  mass  of  white  foam  and  spray  seems 
so  ethereal  in  its  loveliness  that  we  feel  all 


OF   THE   SUBLIME 


99 


the  more  the  terrible  might  of  the  waters 
thundering  in  their  fall. 

The  sense  of  beauty,  as  we  have  seen, 
springs  from  our  delight  in  the  freedom  and 
perfection  of  nature  ;  that  of  sublimity  arises 
from  our  joy  in  the  freedom  and  perfection 
of  its  strength.  The  double  feeling,  that  of 
pain  and  joy,  united  or  following  one  another, 
which  is  so  generally  referred  to  in  the  dis- 
cussions of  this  theme,  arises,  when  it  exists, 
from  our  sense  of  the  contrast  between  our 
insignificance  and  the  strength  and  the  vast- 
ness  with  which  we  are  surrounded.  This 
contrast  is  most  strongly  marked  where  there 
is  some  sense  of  peril,  where,  as  in  the  case 
already  referred  to,  one  is  upon  a  vessel  that 
seems  but  a  mere  shell  among  the  waves 
which  are  carrying  on  their  wild  sport  about 
it  and  beneath  it.  As  the  boat  that  seems 
so  little  and  fragile  rises  and  sinks,  rolls  and 
pitches,  one  may  give  way  to  terror.  The 
sense  of  beauty  may,  however,  be  stronger 
than  the  terror.  One  may  rejoice  in  the 
joy  of  the  elements.  To  one  who  has  risen 
above  the  sense  of  personal  peril,  the  sea, 
even  at  its  wildest,  is  beautiful.  It  is  only 
our  terror  that  speaks  of  the  angry  waters, 
or  can   call   them,   as    Kant  does,  horrible. 


200  THE   PHILOSOPHY 

The  strength  of  the  sea,  if  giving  up  all 
thought  of  danger  and  safety  we  put  any- 
human  emotion  into  it,  can  be  considered 
only  as  a  glad  strength.  In  the  exaltation 
which  the  sense  of  sublimity  brings  we  enter 
into  this  joy.  Similar  to  this  is,  in  all  other 
cases,  our  relation  to  the  sublime.  It  may 
not  be  physical  peril  that  moves  us,  the  fear  of 
being  actually  lost  and  swallowed  up  among 
the  forces  of  nature.  It  may  be  the  sense 
more  or  less  distinct  of  the  insignificance 
of  our  individuality  in  the  presence  of  the 
stupendousness  of  nature.  The  individual 
shrinks  to  nothingness  in  the  comparison. 
This  loss  of  self-importance  naturally  is  often 
accompanied  by  an  inward  protest.  The 
individual  naturally  may  shrink  from  suffer- 
ing himself  to  be  thus  lost  in  the  vastness 
of  the  universe.  Some  are  unable  to  get 
beyond  this  shrinking  which  may  even 
assume  the  form  of  a  vague  terror.  Where 
the  sense  of  sublimity  is  truly  felt,  however, 
this  shrinking  is  overcome.  It  is  replaced 
or  accompanied  by  a  joy  and  an  exaltation. 
To  some  minds  this  joy  comes  without  the 
struggle,  though  even  in  this  case  there  is 
the  sense,  however  little  it  may  be  developed 
into  consciousness,  of  the  measureless   dis- 


OF   THE   SUBLIME  201 

parity  of  which  I  have  spoken.  This  joy- 
may  arise  from  various  aspects  of  the  re- 
lation. The  sense  of  the  infinite  may  be 
aroused  as  the  philosophers  have  so  often 
affirmed.  There  may  come,  according  to 
the  opinion  of  Kant,  a  sense  of  spiritual 
immensities  to  which  the  material  immen- 
sity is  as  nothing.  Primarily,  however,  and 
most  simply  it  is,  as  it  appears  on  its  face, 
a  delight  in  the  manifestation  of  nature, 
especially  when  the  measureless  force  that 
awes  us  has  clothed  itself,  as  it  so  often  does, 
in  the  garment  of  beauty.  We  find  a  like 
relation,  which  is  easier  to  understand,  in 
the  veneration  which  is  felt  towards  some 
noble  character.  In  such  veneration  there  is 
also  the  element  of  awe,  but  this  awe  is  itself 
a  pleasure,  for  it  introduces  us  to  the  con- 
templation of  virtue  or  genius,  delighting  in 
which  we  forget  our  own  limitations  ;  or  else 
we  feel  that  this  superiority  to  ourselves  is 
the  most  natural  thing  in  the  world,  and  we 
glory  in  this  transcending  excellence.  The 
philosophers  have  for  the  most  part  been  un- 
willing to  believe  that  there  could  be  any- 
thing in  nature  to  excite  an  awe  like  this. 
Explain  it  as  we  will,  or  leave  it  unexplained, 
nature  does  have  this  power  over  us.     We 


202  THE   PHILOSOPHY 

may  say,  as  I  have  said,  that  we  have  such 
sympathy  with  nature  that  we  rejoice  in  its 
power  and  beauty  as  if  they  were  our  own. 
We  may  say,  perhaps  more  truly,  that  it 
is  a  sense  of  the  divine  life  in  the  world  that 
is  about  us.  However  we  may  explain  it,  it 
is  the  giving  up  of  ourselves  to  a  larger  life. 
This  may,  indeed,  take  the  form  of  cynicism, 
as  it  does  sometimes  in  the  poems  of  Byron, 
who  seems  to  rejoice  in  the  littleness  of 
human  nature  in  its  pitiful  contrast  with  the 
sublimities  of  the  external  world.  In  this 
case,  the  spirit  of  the  cynic  has  transcended 
itself  and  made  itself  one  with  the  stupen- 
dousness  of  nature.  More  often,  however, 
it  is  the  simple,  natural,  surrender  of  one's 
self  to  that  which  is  unspeakably  vaster,  and 
more  magnificent.  In  this  mingled  awe 
and  exaltation  we  have  one  of  the  most  beau- 
tiful manifestations  of  human  nature.  This 
self-surrender  is  in  the  aesthetic  world  what 
self-denial  is  in  the  moral  world.  The  ex- 
perience is  in  itself  a  healthful  one.  There 
are  persons  so  full  of  conceit  or  of  self-con- 
sciousness that  a  moment  of  self-forgetful ness 
in  the  joy  of  what  is  infinitely  above  and 
beyond  them  would  bring,  we  can  but  think, 
a  new  element  of  peace  and  strength  into 
their  lives. 


OF   THE    SUBLIME  203 

Goethe    exclaims    through    the   lips    of 
Faust,  — 

"  Das  Schaudern  ist  der  Menscheit  bestes  Theil." 

When  Faust  said  these  words  he  was  on  the 
point  of  descending  to  the  awful  presence  of 
the  "  mothers,"  to  the  region  of  the  formless 
out  from  which  all  forms  proceed.  The 
shudder  that  he  felt  was  the  awe  of  sublimity. 
We  may  place  the  possibility  of  this  at  least 
among  the  best  elements  of  humanity.  It 
implies  the  possibility  of  a  sense  of  that 
which  infinitely  transcends  our  little  human 
lives,  and  a  joy  in  this  transcendence.  It 
implies  the  possibility  of  giving  up  our  self- 
importance  and  of  a  childlike  delight  in  that 
which  is  larger  and  stronger,  or  in  any  way 
more  worthy,  than  ourselves. 


SPENCER'S  RECONCILIATION  OF 
SCIENCE   AND    RELIGION 


SPENCER'S  RECONCILIATION  OF 
SCIENCE   AND    RELIGION 

The  works  of  Herbert  Spencer  exhibit  the 
latest  form  of  the  positive  philosophy,  and 
foreshadow  its  future  development.  Rev- 
erent and  bold,  —  reverent  for  truth,  though 
not  for  the  forms  of  truth,  and  not  for  much 
that  we  hold  true,  —  bold  in  the  destruction 
of  error,  though  without  that  joy  in  de- 
struction which  often  claims  the  name  of 
boldness,  —  these  works  are  interesting  in 
themselves  and  in  their  relation  to  the  earnest 
thought  of  the  time.  They  seem  at  the 
first  sight  to  form  the  turning-point  in  the 
positive  philosophy ;  but  closer  examination 
shows  us  that  it  is  only  a  new  and  marked 
stage  in  a  regular  growth.  It  is  the  positive 
philosophy  reaching  the  higher  realities  of 
our  being,  and  establishing  what  before  it 
ignored,  because  it  had  not  reached,  and  by 
ignoring  seemed  to  destroy.  This  system 
formerly  excluded  theology  and  pure  psy- 
chology. In  the  works  of  Spencer  we  have 
the  rudiments  of  a  positive  theology,  and  an 


2o8        RECONCILIATION   OF 

immense  step  towards  the  perfection  of  the 
science  of  psychology. 

In  witnessing  the  increasing  violence  of 
any  destructive  power,  it  is  hard  to  free 
ourselves  from  a  certain  shrinking  terror, 
even  if  we  know  that  there  are  barriers  which 
this  power  cannot  pass.  When  the  tempest 
drives  the  flowing  tide,  with  what  seems 
irresistible  might,  against  the  shore,  it  is 
hard  to  keep  wholly  free  from  dread,  even 
though  we  know  that  the  "  Thus  far  and  no 
farther"  has  been  written  by  the  hand  of 
God  on  the  eternal  rocks.  So,  many  clear 
heads  and  trusting  hearts  felt  a  certain  un- 
acknowledged terror  in  the  presence  of  that 
philosophy  which  seemed  sweeping  away 
what  was  dearest  to  their  faith,  even  while 
they  knew  the  limits  which  bound  it. 

Before  considering  the  relation  which  the 
works  of  Spencer  bear  to  our  religious 
thought,  let  us  look  for  a  moment  at  those 
limitations  which  were  imposed  upon  this 
positive  philosophy  by  its  very  nature.  We 
will  not  speak  of  the  most  obvious  and  real 
of  these,  —  the  fact  that  it  left  out  of  the 
account  one  whole  department  of  our  being, 
for  this  would  be  to  assume  the  whole 
question.     An   argument    drawn    from    this 


SCIENCE   AND    RELIGION     209 

would  affect  only  the  man  of  religious  faith, 
and  it  would  affect  him  only  so  far  as  his 
faith  was  strong ;  that  is,  it  would  be  strong- 
est when  it  was  least  needed.  The  positive 
philosophy,  positive  towards  the  sciences, 
was  merely  negative  towards  theology.  It 
did  not  directly  attack  it.  It  only  tried  to 
crowd  it  out.  It  attempted  to  do  this  in 
two  ways  :  first,  historically  ;  secondly,  dem- 
onstratively. The  historical  method  was 
this.  It  showed  how  every  science  had 
passed  through  the  three  stages  of  theologi- 
cal, metaphysical,  and  positive.  The  first 
of  these  stages  was  still  further  subdivided 
into  the  periods  of  Fetichism,  Polytheism, 
and  Monotheism.  All  the  sciences  had 
passed  through  these  forms  except  the  new 
and  incomplete  science  of  sociology.  The 
direct  hand  of  God  was  acknowledged  only 
in  our  human  life,  and,  as  it  had  been  ex- 
cluded from  every  other  sphere,  the  inference 
was  unavoidable  that  it  would  be  from  this. 
But  to  make  the  inference  from  it  valid, 
these  changes  should  have  been  complete 
and  radical.  If  it  is  seen  that  each  of  these 
was  only  a  matter  of  degree,  that  it  was  a 
right  principle  too  far  extended,  then  the 
inference  is  without  logical  foundation.  Even 
14 


210       RECONCILIATION   OF 

Fetichism  was  only  such  an  undue  extension. 
Fetichism  was  simply  ascribing  to  all  the 
objects  in  nature  what  was  due  to  some  of 
them,  viz.  consciousness  and  volition  akin 
to  those  of  the  beholder.  The  savage  had 
not  drawn  the  line  between  the  animate  and 
the  inanimate.  We  still  apply  the  principle 
of  Fetichism  to  men  and  to  animals.  Still 
further,  our  most  accurate  science  has  hardly 
yet  drawn  the  line  where  Fetichism  should 
cease,  that  is,  where  animal  life  ends,  and 
vegetable  begins.  The  principle,  then,  is 
only  modified  and  limited,  not  abandoned. 
It  is  sufficient  to  show  this  in  regard  to  the 
first  of  this  series  of  changes,  to  expose  the 
fallacy  of  the  argument  drawn  from  them. 
Had  we  space,  however,  the  process  could 
be  continued  in  regard  to  the  others.  What 
was  essential  in  Polytheism  is  retained  by 
the  monotheistic  Trinitarianism,  and  no  pro- 
found Monotheism  can  long  be  free  from 
some  form  of  Trinitarianism.  Enough  has 
been  shown,  however,  to  prove  that  these 
changes  are  merely  limitations  and  modifi- 
cations, and  these  can  never  pass  into  destruc- 
tion and  annihilation.  Least  of  all  could 
this  destruction  be  argued  from  them. 
A  similar  fallacy  is  found   in   the  other 


SCIENCE   AND    RELIGION     211 

method  of  crowding  religion  out  of  the 
world.  This  method  is,  by  showing  the 
presence  of  law  everywhere,  and  the  absence 
of  all  arbitrariness,  to  leave  no  place  for  the 
Divine  will.  But  the  same  system,  when  it 
comes  to  speak  of  the  human  will,  makes 
that  regular  and  subject  to  law.  If  it  seem 
capricious,  it  is  only  because  the  circum- 
stances about  it  change.  If  this  be  so,  then 
this  regularity  in  the  world  is  what  we  should 
expect  from  the  working  of  an  absolute  will, 
which  was  master  of  its  circumstances.  The 
account  that  the  positive  philosophy  gives 
of  the  world  just  fits  the  conception  which  it 
gives  of  will,  and  gives  us  just  such  a  world 
as  we  should  expect  from  a  supreme  will,  as 
it  defines  will. 

Many  persons  conceive  of  fallacies  in  a 
system  as  places  to  be  attacked,  just  as  a  boy 
imagines  the  eyes  of  the  cocoa-nut  to  be 
designed  by  nature  as  weak  spots  for  the 
insertion  of  his  gimlet.  Both  overlook  the 
great  principle  of  germination. 

If  any  system  have  real  vitality  in  it,  its 
points  of  weakness  are  its  points  of  growth. 
It  cannot  be  destroyed  from  without;  but 
by  the  process  of  its  own  nature  it  will  itself 
break  through  its  limitations,  and  transform 


212       RECONCILIATION   OF 

itself  into  a  more  perfect  form,  or  at  least 
into  one  that  shall  supply  what  it  before 
lacked.  What  we  should  expect  from  these 
points  of  germination  in  the  positive  philoso- 
phy would  be,  then,  a  theology  so  modified 
as  to  be  free  from  all  arbitrariness  and 
caprice.  In  the  works  of  Spencer  we  have 
indications  of  the  beginning  of  this  process. 
In  the  system  of  philosophy  of  which  Mr. 
Spencer  has  commenced  the  serial  publica- 
tion, we  have  first,  under  the  heading  of 
"  First  Principles/'  two  divisions,  viz.  Part 
First,  "  The  Unknowable,"  and  Part  Second, 
"  Laws  of  the  Knowable."  It  is  with  the 
first  of  these  parts  that  we  concern  ourselves 
at  present.  In  this  he  brings  together  the 
ultimate  facts  of  science  and  religion.  He 
takes  up  three  forms  of  religious  thought, 
the  atheistic,  the  pantheistic,  and  one  form 
of  the  theistic,  and  shows  that  each  is  incon- 
ceivable, and  therefore  idle.  He  then  takes 
up,  in  like  manner,  the  ultimate  scientific 
ideas,  such  as  space,  time,  and  force,  and 
shows  that  these  are,  in  like  manner,  incon- 
ceivable, and  consequently  unknowable.  He 
has  thus  shown  that  both  religious  thought 
and  scientific  thought  lose  themselves,  if  we 
trace   them    back    far   enough,   in    mystery. 


SCIENCE   AND    RELIGION     213 

And  when  at  last  he  seeks  a  reconciliation 
of  the  two,  he  finds  it  in  this  mystery,  which 
is  common  to  both.  The  mysteriousness  of 
these  ultimate  facts  is  the  one  thing  in  com- 
mon between  all  forms  of  religion,  and 
between  these  and  science.  Yet  it  is  not  all 
mystery  or  uncertainty  in  either.  The  solid, 
central  ground  is  the  certainty  of  one  omni- 
present and  incomprehensible  power.  We 
give  the  statement  of  this  very  important 
result  in  the  words  of  the  author. 

"We  are  obliged  to  regard  every  phenomenon 
as  a  manifestation  of  some  power,  by  which  we 
are  acted  upon  ;  phenomena  being,  so  far  as  we 
can  ascertain,  unlimited  on  their  diffusion,  we  are 
obliged  to  regard  this  power  as  omnipresent ;  and 
criticism  teaches  us  that  this  power  is  wholly  in- 
comprehensible. In  this  consciousness  of  an  in- 
comprehensible, omnipresent  power,  we  have  just 
the  consciousness  on  which  religion  dwells.  And 
so  we  arrive  at  the  point  where  religion  and  science 
coalesce." 

Such  is  a  brief  and  meagre  sketch  of  a 
discussion  which  we  would  commend  to  be 
followed  in  detail  by  every  mind  interested 
in  theological  study.  Herbert  Spencer  comes, 
in  good  faith,  from  what  has  been  so  long  a 


2i4       RECONCILIATION    OF 

hostile  camp,  bringing  a  flag  of  truce  and 
proposing  terms  of  agreement  meant  to  be 
honorable  to  both  parties.  Let  us  give  him 
a  candid  hearing,  and  perhaps  the  terms  he 
offers,  though  we  may  not  accept  them  in 
their  first  and  full  form,  may  lead  to  a  better 
understanding,  and  open  the  way  to  a  final 
adjustment.  In  suggesting  a  few  thoughts 
designed  to  help  forward  this  result,  we  shall 
avoid  all  mere  verbal  criticism ;  we  shall 
resist  the  temptation  to  expose  inconsist- 
encies inevitable  to  a  transition  state,  and 
shall  confine  ourselves  to  the  broadest  prin- 
ciples involved  in  the  discussion. 

Our  first  criticism  is,  that  Spencer  looks 
upon  theology,  or  tries  to  do  so,  too  much 
from  the  theological  standpoint.  He  con- 
fuses the  subject  by  bringing  in  discussions 
which  belong  to  theology,  and  with  which 
positivism  has  nothing  to  do.  It  is  like 
Lord  Lyons  interpreting  the  Constitution 
of  the  United  States  to  Mr.  Seward.  Even 
with  the  distinctions  of  Atheism,  Pantheism, 
and  Theism,  the  positivist,  as  such,  has 
nothing  to  do.  He  can,  if  we  may  be 
allowed  the  paradox,  conceive  of  Theism 
only  under  the  form  of  Atheism ;  that  is  to 
say,  he  must  look  at  the  whole   circle  of 


SCIENCE   AND    RELIGION     21  j 

being  as  complete  in  itself,  with  nothing 
outside  of  it.  If  to  this  chain  of  causes 
there  be  a  first  cause,  this  must  be  taken 
with  the  rest  as  forming  the  sum  of  what  is. 
The  existence  of  God  does  not  explain  ex- 
istence. It  presupposes  it.  Even  if  this 
first  cause  be  all-pervading  and  all-efficient, 
if  it  be  the  working  power  in  each  subor- 
dinate cause,  —  whether  it  be  a  part  of  the 
whole,  or  whether  it  be  the  whole  of  which 
the  others  are  parts,  —  with  them  it  makes 
up  the  sum  of  that  which  is.  And  that 
which  is,  a  self-completing  and  self-sufficient 
circle,  with  nothing  outside  of  it,  is  that  with 
which  the  positivist  has  to  do.  The  theology- 
he  has,  if  he  have  any,  must  be  his  own,  and 
reached  in  his  own  way.  The  giving  up  of 
these  cumbering  remains  of  old  discussions 
will  lighten  the  whole  controversy. 

Our  next  point  of  objection  is,  that  the 
terms  of  compromise  he  proposes  are  dis- 
honorable to  both  parties,  no  less  so  to 
science  than  to  theology.  They  are  so 
because  they  do  not  involve  the  results 
achieved  by  either. 

To  illustrate  clearly  the  method  of  recon- 
ciliation proposed,  we  will  quote  somewhat 
in  detail. 


216       RECONCILIATION   OF 

"  We  have  to  discover  some  fundamental  verity 
which  religion  will  assert,  with  all  possible  em- 
phasis, in  the  absence  of  science,  and  which  science, 
with  all  possible  emphasis,  will  assert  in  the  absence 
of  religion,  —  some  fundamental  verity  in  the  de- 
fence of  which  each  will  find  the  other  its  ally. 

"  Or,  changing  the  point  of  view,  our  aim  must 
be  to  co-ordinate  the  seemingly  opposed  convictions 
which  religion  and  science  embody.  From  the 
coalescence  of  antagonist  ideas,  each  containing 
its  portion  of  truth,  there  always  arises  a  higher 
development.  As  in  geology,  when  the  igneous 
and  aqueous  hypotheses  were  united,  a  rapid  advance 
took  place;  as  in  biology  we  are  beginning  to 
progress  through  the  fusion  of  the  doctrine  of  types 
with  the  doctrine  of  adaptation ;  as  in  psychology 
the  arrested  growth  recommences,  now  that  the 
disciples  of  Kant  and  those  of  Locke  have  both 
their  views  recognized  in  the  theory  that  organ- 
ized experiences  produce  forms  of  thought;  as  in 
sociology  now  that  it  is  beginning  to  assume  a 
positive  character,  we  find  a  recognition  of  both 
the  party  of  progress  and  the  party  of  order  as  each 
holding  a  truth,  which  forms  a  needful  complement 
to  that  held  by  the  other ;  —  so  must  it  be,  on  a 
grander  scale,  with  religion  and  science.  To  un- 
derstand how  science  and  religion  express  opposite 
sides  of  the  same  fact,  —  the  one  its  near  or  visible 
side,  and  the  other  its  remote  or  invisible  side,  — 
this  is  what  we  must  attempt,  and  to  achieve  this 


SCIENCE   AND    RELIGION     217 

we  must  profoundly  modify  our  general  theory  of 
things.   .  .  . 

"  We  have  found  a  priori  reason  for  believing 
that  in  all  religions,  even  the  rudest,  there  lies  a 
hidden,  a  fundamental  verity.  We  have  inferred 
that  this  fundamental  verity  is  that  element  com- 
mon to  all  religions,  which  remains  after  their 
discordant  peculiarities  have  been  mutually  can- 
celled. And  we  have  further  inferred,  that  this 
element  is  almost  certain  to  be  more  abstract  than 
any  current  religious  doctrine.  Now,  it  is  manifest 
that  only  in  some  highly  abstract  proposition  can 
religion  and  science  find  a  common  ground.  Neither 
such  dogmas  as  those  of  the  Trinitarian  and 
Unitarian,  nor  any  such  idea  as  that  of  propitiation, 
common  though  it  may  be  to  all  religions,  can 
serve  as  the  desired  basis  of  agreement;  for  sci- 
ence cannot  recognize  beliefs  like  these :  they  lie 
beyond  its  sphere.  Hence  we  see,  not  only  that, 
judging  by  analogy,  the  essential  truth  contained 
in  religion  is  that  most  abstract  element  pervading 
all  its  forms;  but  also  that  this  most  abstract 
element  is  the  only  one  in  which  religion  is  likely 
to  agree  with  science." 

We  can  hardly  understand  how  the  por- 
tion of  our  quotation  which  follows  the  dots 
that  take  the  place  of  an  omitted  paragraph 
should  have  been  written  by  the  same  hand 
that  wrote  that  which  precedes  them.     Sup- 


218       RECONCILIATION   OF 

pose  the  principle  of  compromise,  suggested 
in  the  close  of  our  extract,  be  applied  to  the 
controversies  referred  to  at  the  beginning. 
The  abstract  truth  common  to  the  igneous 
and  aqueous  theories  is,  that  the  geological 
structure  of  the  world  was  produced  some- 
how. The  truth  held  in  common  by  the 
disciples  of  Kant  and  those  of  Locke  would 
be  that  men  had  ideas.  On  the  contrary, 
each  of  the  compromises  referred  to  by  him 
were  reached  by  the  tenacity  with  which 
each  side  maintained  its  own  convictions  to 
the  last.  The  Neptunian  maintained  the 
action  of  water,  the  Vulcanian  that  of  fire, 
till  the  agency  of  both  was  at  last  admitted. 
The  disciple  of  Kant  maintained  that  men 
were  born  with  certain  forms  of  thought. 
The  disciples  of  Locke  maintained  that  all 
thoughts  and  all  forms  of  thought  were  the 
result  of  experience.  The  higher  ground 
referred  to  by  Spencer  is  the  ingenious 
theory,  that  individual  men  are  born  with 
forms  of  thought,  the  result  of  the  accumu- 
lated and  embodied  experience  of  the  race. 
Not  what  is  most  abstract,  but  what  is  most 
concrete,  in  each  of  the  opposing  doctrines, 
is  the  basis  of  the  final  and  harmonious 
adjustment.       In    like   manner,   if  religion 


or  THE 

UNIVERSITY 
or 
FORNAX 


SCIENCE   AND    RELIGION     219 

and  science  ever  coalesce,  this  result  will 
be  brought  about  by  the  steadfastness  with 
which  each  insists  on  what  is  most  peculiar 
to  itself.  Theology  must  maintain  its  high- 
est intuitions ;  science  must  maintain  the 
rigid  accuracy  of  its  own  methods.  Spencer, 
in  the  result  he  has  reached,  does  more  to 
help  forward  this  adjustment  than  by  the 
basis  he  proposes.  When  he  gives  us,  as 
the  infallible  demonstration  of  science,  that 
all  phenomena  are  the  result  of  one  absolute 
and  omnipresent  power,  we  see  the  first  step 
in  the  process  of  reconciliation.  Science  will 
demonstrate  the  fundamental  truths  of  re- 
ligion, while  the  extravagances  of  theology 
will  be  corrected,  and  its  confusion  made 
clear,  by  the  same  process. 

Let  us  look  more  closely  at  the  ground 
thus  reached.  What  is  there  in  the  results 
of  positive  science  that  should  lead  to  the 
undoubting  statement  of  Spencer,  and  that 
should  lead  still  further  to  the  advance  just 
suggested?  Positive  science  discloses  the 
unity  and  the  development  of  the  world.  It 
subordinates  all  laws  to  one  law,  and  this  one 
law  is  seen  more  and  more  to  be  that  of 
development,  of  progress.  The  formula  of 
this  development  is  found  to  be  the  same  at 


220       RECONCILIATION    OF 

every  stage,  namely,  progression  by  differ- 
entiation and  integration.  The  result  is  the 
same  as  when  Newton  found  that  the  same 
mathematical  formula  would  express  the 
motion  of  the  planets  and  that  of  an  apple 
falling  to  the  earth.  He  saw,  and  the  world 
saw,  that  this  common  result  must  be  pro- 
duced by  one  and  the  same  cause.  This 
was  only  one  step  in  the  demonstration  by 
which  science  has  shown,  and  is  showing, 
the  world  and  the  universe  to  be  a  unity, 
and  if  a  unity,  then  the  inference  is  unavoid- 
able, that  all  its  phenomena  must  be  the 
result  of  one  and  the  same  power.  The 
principle  of  progress  or  development  by 
itself  explains  nothing,  but  points  unmistak- 
ably in  the  same  direction.  Development  is 
a  constant  creation.  If  it  is  a  creative  act  to 
produce  man  out  of  the  dust  of  the  earth  in 
a  moment,  it  is  no  less  a  creative  act  to  pro- 
duce him  out  of  a  nebulous  mist,  in  myriads 
of  years.  Nay,  it  is  no  less  a  creative  act 
to  produce  the  human  race,  should  it  ever 
be  brought  to  this,  out  of  the  race  of  baboons. 
For  this  would  involve,  unless  our  estimate 
of  humanity  be  exaggerated,  the  production 
of  faculties  and  powers  which  before  had  no 
existence.     We  wish  to  commit  ourselves  to 


SCIENCE   AND   RELIGION     221 

no  theory,  but  only  to  show  that  the  most 
extreme  theories,  so  far  as  they  affect  the 
theological  argument  at  all,  only  make  it 
stronger.  To  trace  back  this  grand  pro- 
cession to  a  nebulous  mass,  and  call  this  its 
cause,  would  be  as  if  one  should  trace  back 
a  bubble  to  a  few  drops  of  soap  and  water  in 
the  bowl  of  a  pipe,  and  call  these  its  cause. 
Trace  the  universe  back,  if  you  can,  to  this 
nebulous  mass ;  then  we  see  more  clearly 
than  ever  before  that  there  is  need  of  the 
inspiring  breath  of  God  to  give  this  shapeless 
mass  form  and  beauty,  to  breathe  into  it  the 
spirit  of  life,  of  understanding,  and  of  love. 
The  formula  according  to  which  this  develop- 
ment takes  place,  the  conditions  under  which 
it  takes  place,  cannot  be  its  cause.  Differ- 
entiation and  integration  show  the  method, 
but  presuppose  the  power,  of  advance.  To 
attempt  to  explain  this  constant  advance  by 
these  alone  would  be  to  explain  the  passage 
of  water  through  a  bed  of  clay  by  saying 
that  first  the  water  softened  the  clay,  and 
then  washed  it  off,  then  softened  more,  and 
washed  that  away.  This  explains  well  enough 
the  method,  but  presupposes  the  force  which 
was  urging  the  water  on.  This  unity  of  the 
world,  presupposing  unity  in  its  cause,  and  this 


222        RECONCILIATION   OF 

constant  progress  in  the  world,  presuppos- 
ing the  constant  action  of  this  causing  power, 
were  undoubtedly  the  facts  which  forced 
Spencer,  as  they  must,  when  they  become 
more  clearly  recognized,  force  all  thinking 
minds,  to  the  recognition  of  the  one  absolute 
and  omnipresent  power.  But  can  the  thought 
rest  here  ?  Do  these  constant  effects  give  no 
hint  of  the  nature  of  the  cause  ?  There  are 
further  steps  which  must  be  taken.  Spencer 
himself  gives  some  hint  of,  as  well  as  makes 
preparation  for,  the  next.  In  speaking  of 
those  who  hold  fast  to  the  popular  concep- 
tion of  God,  he  says,  that  they  "  make  the 
erroneous  assumption  that  the  choice  is  be- 
tween personality  and  something  lower  than 
personality;  whereas  the  choice  is  rather 
between  personality  and  something  higher. 
Is  it  not  just  possible  that  there  is  a  mode 
of  being  as  much  transcending  intelligence 
and  will  as  these  transcend  mechanical 
motion  ?" 

If  we  compare  the  uls  it  not  possible" 
of  Spencer  with  the  "must  be"  of  Parker, 
we  shall  see  how  near  this  Positivism  is  to  a 
positive  Theism.  The  relation  of  the  results 
of  Spencer  to  the  religious  sentiment  may  be 
best  seen  by  reading,  in  connection  with  his 


SCIENCE   AND    RELIGION     223 

works,  Miss  Hennell's  very  interesting  and 
earnest  volume,  entitled  "  Thoughts  in  Aid 
of  Faith."  This  book  seems  to  have  been 
suggested  by  Spencer's  writings.  It  certainly 
occupies  the  same  standpoint,  and  presents 
the  same  results,  under  the  form  of  senti- 
ment. It  shows  how  emotional  religion  fills 
out  every  channel  that  is  opened  for  it; 
and  how  far  such  a  channel  is  opened  by 
Positivism. 

One  of  the  greatest  points  of  difference 
between  the  modern  philosophy  and  that 
which  came  before  it  is,  that  the  modern 
places  an  impassable  gulf  between  cause  and 
effect.  The  effect,  it  is  maintained,  gives  no 
idea  of  the  cause.  Mill,  in  his  Logic, 
ridicules  the  assumption  that  there  can  be 
nothing  in  the  effect  which  is  not  in  the 
cause,  by  the  deduction  that,  if  there  be 
pepper  in  the  soup,  the  cook  that  made  it 
must  have  been  peppery;  which  suggests, 
and  was  probably  suggested  by,  the  familiar 
parody,  "  Who  drives  fat  oxen  must  himself 
be  fat."  It  is  true  that  such  reasoning  may 
be  carried  too  far.  An  efficient  cause,  in 
general,  simply  sets  in  motion  the  properties 
of  the  object  acted  on,  and  its  results  are 
varied  by  these  properties.     A  spark  is  the 


224       RECONCILIATION    OF 

same,  whether  it  be  produced  by  friction, 
fire,  or  chemical  action.  On  the  other  hand, 
its  effects  vary,  according  as  it  falls  on 
powder,  tinder,  water,  ice,  or  dough.  But  it 
is  also  true,  that  the  material  of  the  effect 
can  be  nothing  but  the  material  of  that  cause 
which  supplied  the  material.  The  causa 
materialis  is  revealed  by  the  effect.  More- 
over, when  there  is  any  final  cause,  this  is 
revealed  in  the  effect.  Leaving  out  of  the 
account  all  scholastic  distinctions,  and  not 
aiming  at  strict  scientific  accuracy,  we  may 
say  that  causes  are  of  two  sorts,  —  those 
which  set  in  action  the  latent  powers  of 
other  substances,  and  those  which  furnish 
themselves  the  substance  of  the  new  effect. 
Physicians  express  this  distinction  very 
simply  when  they  speak  of  the  exciting  and 
predisposing  causes  of  disease.  Now  an 
absolute  cause  furnishes  everything.  It  is  at 
once  the  efficient,  material,  formal,  and  final 
cause.  Its  action  is  not  limited  by  other 
substances,  for  there  are  no  other.  It  is  not 
qualified  by  the  material  on  which  it  works, 
for  it  supplies  this  substance.  We  could 
not  say  whether  the  form  of  its  action  is 
imposed  by  itself  from  without,  or  whether 
it  results  from  the  nature  of  the  substance 


SCIENCE   AND    RELIGION     225 

acted  upon,  for  subject  and  object  are  one. 
Moreover,  there  being  nothing  to  impede  or 
check,  the  end  reached  must  be  the  end 
proposed.  Consequently,  the  results  pro- 
duced by  an  absolute  cause  must  be  in  some 
degree  the  revelation  of  the  cause. 

The  same  is  true,  notwithstanding  the 
admissions  made  above,  of  every  cause,  how- 
ever limited.  For  how  can  a  cause  be  de- 
fined, except  by  its  effects  ?  The  nature  of 
a  cause  is  to  produce  such  and  such  effects. 
It  is  the  nature  of  fire  to  produce  light,  to 
melt  ice,  to  burn  combustible  matter.  We 
define  a  cause,  then,  when  we  say  what  it  has 
done,  what  it  might  do,  and  what  it  will  do. 
All  that  we  know  of  anything  is,  that  it  is 
the  cause  of  certain  effects,  and  the  result  of 
certain  causes.  Of  the  absolute  cause  we 
know,  and  can  know,  only  the  first.  Of  this 
we  know,  that  it  produces  thought,  it  sus- 
tains thought,  guides  thought,  and,  by  im- 
pelling thought  towards  itself,  makes  itself 
the  end  of  thought.  We  know  that  it 
causes  love,  maintains  love,  guides  love,  and, 
by  directing  love  towards  itself,  makes  itself 
the  object  of  love.  This  the  positivist  must 
affirm,  and  if  he  affirms  this,  it  is,  for  prac- 
tical purposes,  very  much  as  if  he  affirmed, 
is 


226       RECONCILIATION    OF 

with  Jesus,  that  God  is  spirit,  and  with  John, 
that  God  is  love.  This  same  cause  produces 
also  sorrow  and  suffering.  But,  so  far  as  we 
can  see,  we  perceive  these  to  be  only  means 
for  an  end,  which  is  the  opposite  of  these. 
And  however  it  may  be  with  these,  it  must 
remain  true  that  the  most  complete  and 
highest  results  of  a  cause  are  the  truest  reve- 
lation of  it.  This  is  evident  from  what  we 
have  said  of  the  nature  of  the  definition  of  a 
cause.  These  highest  results  show  most  per- 
fectly what  it  is  the  nature  of  the  cause  to 
effect.  If  we  wish  to  form  a  conception  of 
the  force  of  attraction,  we  should  not  think 
of  reckoning  the  power  that  it  takes  to 
draw  a  pebble  to  the  earth,  but  that  which  is 
needed  to  hold  the  universe  together.  The 
universe  is,  so  far  as  we  know,  unlimited. 
If  it  were  unlimited,  we  know  that  this  power 
of  attraction  would  hold  the  whole  together, 
because  each  new  world  adds  to  this  power. 
Thus,  to  form  an  estimate  of  the  power  of 
attraction,  we  should  have  to  think  of  un- 
limited, that  is  infinite  force.  This  we  can 
do,  and  in  this  we  can  believe,  though  it  be 
inconceivable.  In  like  manner,  to  form  a 
thought  of  the  absolute  cause  of  all,  we  must 
take  what  we  are  forced  to  recognize  as  its 


SCIENCE   AND    RELIGION     227 

highest  results,  and  make  these  our  measure. 
These  results  are  spiritual.  They  are 
Thought  and  Love,  which  are  the  highest 
attributes  of  spirit.  These,  then,  form  the 
best  revelation  that  we  have  of  the  absolute 
cause.  These  are  imperfect,  but  not  there- 
fore false  in  their  revelation.  An  absolute 
cause  must  reveal  itself,  more  or  less,  at 
every  step.  At  every  step  the  highest  re- 
sult reached  is  the  best  revelation.  Suppose, 
at  each  stage  in  creation,  the  world  to  have 
a  certain  consciousness,  by  which  it  knows 
that  it  is  the  product  of  one  power,  and 
seeks  to  discover  from  itself  the  nature  of 
that  power.  The  bare  and  barren  worlds  of 
unmeasured  vastness,  stretching  through 
immeasurable  space,  would  find  in  them- 
selves the  revelation  of  might  only,  of  the 
vastness  of  the  power  that  caused  them. 
Attraction  is  pure,  unqualified  power.  The 
world  of  plants,  the  result  of  the  teeming 
fertility  of  the  primeval  worlds,  would  recog- 
nize life  as  the  truest  revelation  of  the  first 
cause,  because  life  is  the  highest  that  had  yet 
been  reached.  In  the  same  way,  passing 
over  intermediate  stages,  we,  in  whom  life 
has  become  thought,  love,  spirit,  recognize 
these  as  the  truest  revelation.     What  further 


228        RECONCILIATION    OF 

is  to  come  we  cannot  say;  but  as,  from  our 
own  standpoint,  we  can  see  how  the  revela- 
tion in  worlds  and  in  plants  was  true,  though 
imperfect,  so  the  revelation  in  us,  while  it  is 
imperfect,  is  yet  true.  No  one  has  done 
more  to  illustrate  this  point  than  Herbert 
Spencer,  though  what  he  has  done  has  been 
without  this  intention.  By  showing  how  all 
forms  of  life,  with  all  forms  of  thought,  as 
well  as  all  forms  of  progress,  may  be  summed 
up  under  one  formula,  he  shows  how  what 
is  true  at  one  stage,  though  imperfect,  must 
be  true  at  all  stages,  and  must  remain  so 
forever. 

In  the  same  manner  he  illustrates  the 
right  that  we  have  to  accept  as  absolutely 
real  what  is  only  relatively  so.     He  says  :  — 

"Thus  we  may  resume  with  entire  confidence 
those  realistic  conceptions  which  philosophy  at  first 
sight  seems  to  dissipate.  Though  reality,  under 
the  forms  of  our  consciousness,  is  but  a  conditioned 
effect  of  the  absolute  reality,  yet  this  conditioned 
effect,  standing  in  indissoluble  relation  with  its 
unconditioned  cause,  and  being  equally  persistent 
with  it,  so  long  as  the  conditions  persist,  is,  to  the 
consciousness  supplying  those  conditions,  equally 
real.  The  persistent  impressions,  being  the  per- 
sistent results  of  a  persistent  cause,  are  for  practical 


SCIENCE   AND    RELIGION     229 

purposes  the  same  to  us  as  the  cause  itself,  and 
may  be  habitually  dealt  with  as  its  equivalents. 
Somewhat  in  the  same  way  that  our  visual  percep- 
tions, though  merely  symbols,  found  to  be  the 
equivalents  of  tactual  perceptions,  are  yet  so 
identified  with  those  tactual  perceptions  that  we 
actually  appear  to  see  the  solidity  and  hardness 
which  we  do  but  infer,  and  thus  conceive  as  objects 
what  are  only  the  signs  of  objects ;  so,  on  a  higher 
stage,  do  we  deal  with  those  relative  realities  as 
though  they  were  absolutes  instead  of  effects  of  the 
absolute.  And  we  may  legitimately  continue  so  to 
deal  with  them  as  long  as  the  conclusions  to  which 
they  help  us  are  understood  as  relative  realities,  and 
not  absolute  ones." 

This  he  says  of  such  realities  as  time, 
space,  motion,  force,  etc.  The  same  remarks 
would  apply  equally  to  higher  realities.  If 
we  find  the  presence  of  mind  and  thought  in 
the  world,  or  the  results  of  a  power,  which  is 
practically  the  same  as  mind  and  thought ; 
if  this  always  has  been  so,  and  always  will  be 
so,  we  are  right  in  regarding  this  power  as 
mind  and  thought,  even  though  it  should  be 
higher  than,  and  in  some  respects  different 
from,  and  not  at  all  to  be  measured  by,  our 
mind  and  our  thought.  If  the  positive 
philosophy  affirms  it  in  one  case  and   not 


23o       RECONCILIATION   OF 

in  the  other,  it  is  because  this  system  is 
thoroughly  treating  the  lower  realities,  and 
just  approaching  the  higher. 

In  the  reasoning  which  we  have  used,  we 
have  constantly  spoken  of  some  realities  and 
results  as  higher  than  others.  The  end  we 
have  reached  depends  upon  this  distinction. 
This  is  a  point  where  the  positive  philosophy 
is  apparently  most  at  issue  with  the  religious, 
—  which  is  here  identical  with  the  common 
sense  of  mankind.  Spencer  thus  writes,  in 
speaking  of  the  correlation  and  equivalents 
of  forces  in  the  fourth  number  of  his  work. 

"  Many  who  admit  that,  among  physical  phe- 
nomena at  least,  the  correlation  of  forces  is  now 
established,  will  probably  say  that  inquiry  has  not 
yet  gone  far  enough  to  enable  us  to  predicate 
equivalence.  And  in  respect  of  the  forces  classed 
as  vital,  mental,  and  social,  the  evidence  assigned, 
however  little  to  be  explained  away,  they  will 
consider  by  no  means  conclusive  even  of  correla- 
tion, much  less  of  equivalence.  To  those  who 
think  thus,  it  must  now,  however,  be  pointed  out 
that  the  universal  truth  above  illustrated,  under  its 
various  aspects,  is  a  necessary  corollary  from  the 
persistence  of  force.  Setting  out  with  the  proposi- 
tion that  force  can  neither  come  into  existence  nor 
cease  to   exist,  the   several   foregoing   conclusions 


SCIENCE   AND    RELIGION     231 

inevitably  follow.  .  .  .  Either  mental  energies,  as 
well  as  bodily  ones,  are  quantitively  correlated  to 
certain  energies  expended  in  their  production,  and 
to  certain  other  energies  which  they  initiate ;  or 
else  nothing  must  become  something,  or  something 
must  become  nothing." 

We  here  meet,  though  somewhat  vaguely, 
the  great  point  of  difference  between  the 
merely  scientific  and  the  theological  point  of 
view.  The  common  and  abiding  sense  of  all 
men  is  with  the  latter.  Life  and  thought 
are  not  mere  equivalents  of  their  material 
conditions,  unless  so  far  as  some  power  may 
have  been  latent  in  the  physical  conditions 
imparted  to  them  from  something  behind 
and  higher  than  themselves.  The  life  of 
mere  sensualism  is  lower  than  the  intellectual 
life.  An  evil  life  is  lower  than  a  moral  life. 
This  the  human  sense  always  will  maintain. 
A  man  stands  higher  than  a  brute.  The 
further  our  knowledge  advances,  the  more  do 
we  feel  the  difference  between  the  crime  of 
killing  a  man,  and  killing  a  brute,  or  thou- 
sands of  brutes.  All  the  pre-Adamite  beasts 
and  reptiles  together  were  not  the  equivalent 
of  a  single  human  being.  Science  cannot 
persuade  men  out  of  this ;  though  we  may 
admit  to  science  the  possible  presence  of  a 


232       RECONCILIATION   OF 

latent,  imparted  force  in  the  lower  forms  of 
being.  We  may  illustrate  this  by  the  familiar 
experiment  of  the  ivory  balls.  A  blow 
struck  on  the  first  reveals  itself  in  the  motion 
of  the  last.  The  force  is  latent  in  the  inter- 
mediate ones  ;  so  a  human  spirit  may  perhaps 
be  regarded  as  the  last  of  a  series,  which 
first  reveals  the  power  imparted  to  the  whole. 
A  better  illustration  would  be  that  of  a  child. 
The  child  is  not  the  equivalent  of  the  man 
it  is  to  become,  yet  there  is  imparted  to  it, 
from  the  parent,  the  impulse  of  growth, 
which  growth  is  carried  on  by  means  of 
absorption  from  the  outward  world.  The 
man,  not  the  child,  is  the  true  image  of  the 
parent.  So  the  universe  may  be  regarded  as 
at  first  the  unconscious  child  of  the  first 
cause.  This  absolute  cause  stands  to  it 
in  the  place  both  of  parent  and  permanent 
condition.  It  gives  it  the  first  impulse  as 
parent,  and  imparts  to  it,  when  it  needs,  new 
life,  as  the  constantly  present  condition  of 
its  growth.  It  is  thus  both  father  and 
mother,  both  imparting  and  sustaining  this 
growing  life.  Thus  does  the  universe,  the 
child  of  God,  grow  from  its  first  uncon- 
sciousness up  into  the  more  and  more  perfect 
image  of  its  cause,  until  man  comes,  "  made 


SCIENCE   AND    RELIGION     233 

in    God's    image/ '    and    humanity  by   slow 
degrees  develops  this  godlikeness. 

We  have  thus  shown  how  science,  proving 
the  unity  that  reigns  through  the  universe, 
demonstrates  that  it  is  the  result  of  one  power, 
and  further  how  this  is  only  one  step  of  a  pro- 
cess that  cannot  rest,  by  which  the  results  of 
this  one  power  must  be  seen  to  be,  in  some 
degree,  the  revelation  of  it.  We  will  now 
look,  very  briefly,  at  some  of  the  results  of 
this  demonstration. 

The  first  result  will  be,  that,  as  science 
demonstrates,  step  by  step,  the  truths  of 
religion,  they  will  become  universal  and 
undoubted.  The  results  of  science,  when 
they  have  become  really  established,  are 
always  so.  All  men  have  powers  and  in- 
tuitions by  which  they  might  discern  God, 
but  these  intuitions  are  obscured  by  lack  of 
culture  and  by  sin.  Men  like  undoubted, 
unquestionable  authority.  The  authority  of 
the  Church  is  broken  into  manifold  frag- 
ments. In  the  times  of  the  mediaeval 
Church,  there  seems  to  have  been  little  real 
unbelief.  The  worst  men  seem  to  have  been 
superstitious.  This  was  because  the  learned 
united  to  uphold  the  fundamental  doctrines 
of  the    Church.      Science    is    beginning    a 


234       RECONCILIATION   OF 

demonstration  that  shall  again  make  religious 
truth  as  universal  and  as  undoubted  as  the 
fact  that  the  earth  moves  round  the  sun. 
We  shall  have  the  old  unanimity,  but  it  will 
rest  on  a  stronger  basis. 

The  same  scientific  process  will  throw 
light  on  many  other  points.  Thus,  we  unite 
in  believing  that  religion  teaches  goodness. 
What  shall  a  man  do  to  be  good?  Moral 
science  and  political  economy  are  sciences 
exact  as  any  other,  and  these  will  teach  us, 
as  they  are  rightly  understood,  what  objec- 
tive goodness  really  is.  We  all  agree  in  the 
belief  in  God's  justice  and  providence.  But 
how  hard  it  is  to  reconcile  justice  and  mercy ! 
How  hard  to  understand  the  connection  be- 
tween special  and  general  providences  !  The 
science  of  history  will  show  us  God's  actual 
dealings  with  men,  —  what  justice  and  provi- 
dence mean  in  this  world.  The  soul  not 
only  needs  light  and  knowledge,  but  it  needs 
also  the  awe  of  mystery.  For  mystery,  the 
Church  gives  us  mysteries.  For  that  great 
mystery  which  fills  the  soul  with  awe,  it 
gives  us  riddles  which  we  cannot  guess. 
Science  gives  us  true  mystery.  There 
cannot  be  true  mystery  except  by  the  side 
of  knowledge.     To  the  savage,   nothing  is 


SCIENCE   AND    RELIGION     235 

mysterious,  because  nothing  is  known.  Only 
when  one  has  begun  to  know,  does  one  feel 
the  majesty  and  awe  of  the  unknown. 
Science  takes  man  from  his  self-complacent 
isolation,  and  lifts  about  him  the  shadow  of 
a  mysterious  nature.  We  know  what  awe 
there  is  in  seeing  a  man  in  the  midst  of  a 
forest,  dwarfed  by  the  giant  trees  ;  or  in  some 
vast  cathedral,  where  he  seems  lost  in  the 
presence  of  such  sublimity.  This  does 
science  do  when  it  places  man  in  the  shadow 
of  this  great  cathedral  of  nature,  —  in  the 
shadow  of  the  ancient  growths  of  the 
primeval  world. 

Revelation  has  been  the  salvation  of  the 
world,  for  it  filled  with  light  the  hearts  of 
those  that  were  ready  for  it,  and  quickened 
the  intuitions  of  the  souls  that  were  hunger- 
ing for  truth.  But  it  forced  no  one  into  its 
fold.  Nay,  it  was  itself  at  the  mercy  of  its 
believers.  If  it  lifted  them  up,  they  dragged 
it  down.  Science  will  demonstrate  the  fun- 
damental truths  of  revelation,  and  will  settle 
the  meaning  of  it. 

The  religious  intuitions  of  the  soul  have 
been  the  salvation  of  the  world,  but  they 
cannot  long  be  its  only  rest.  Faith  in  them 
alone  forms  only  a  resting-place  in  the  soul's 


236     SCIENCE   AND    RELIGION 

march.  They  need  outward  guides.  They 
need  some  common  force  which  shall  control 
individual  eccentricity,  and  correct  individual 
inertia  or  prejudice.  A  man  will  not  rest 
long  in  the  simple  utterance,  "  It  is  true, 
because  I  know  it  is  true."  He  must  go  on 
to  demonstrate  what  he  knows.  And  this 
demonstration  science  is  beginning. 

If  we  are  Christians  we  may,  then,  well  be 
hopeful  and  fearless  ones.  We  may  reckon 
all  things  as  ours,  may  know  no  enemy  but 
sin,  and  hail  every  result  of  earnest  thought, 
not  as  complete  in  itself,  but  as  one  of  the 
steps  up  which  the  aspiring  race  shall  mount 
to  grander  heights. 


THE   GAIN   OF    HISTORY 


THE   GAIN   OF   HISTORY 

Wherein  consists  the  gain  of  history  ?  The 
question  implies  a  larger  one,  to  which 
its  answer  alone  will  furnish  a  solution : 
Does  mankind  advance?  Do  the  changes 
of  history  involve  corresponding  gains  ? 
This  question  suggests  the  thoughts  to 
which  I  will  call  your  attention  at  this  time. 
The  question  is  vast  and  vague.  It  is  so 
vast  that  I  shall  be  able  to  touch  only  two 
or  three  leading  aspects  of  it,  such  as  may 
seem  most  suited  to  this  occasion.  It  is 
vague,  because  it  may  appear  doubtful  where 
the  history  of  the  race  begins.  Scientific 
speculation  points  us  back  through  vistas 
almost  interminable,  up  through  which  has 
pressed  the  life  of  which  our  human  life  is 
only  the  culmination.  It  would  make  the 
history  of  our  life  identical  with  the  history 
of  all  life  upon  this  globe.  I  shall  not  ven- 
ture upon  the  tempting  fields  that  are  thus 
thrown  open.  I  shall  not  ask  whether  the 
lowly  Ascidian,  in  whose  little  sack  was  con- 
tained, as  we  are  told,  all  the  possibilities  of 


24o     THE   GAIN    OF    HISTORY 

earthly  life,  was  or  was  not  better  off  than 
we,  his  remote  descendants.  The  question, 
whether  the  dreamless  sleep  of  this  lowly  life 
might  be  considered  as  in  any  way  preferable 
to  the  fully  rounded  consciousness  of  the 
present,  would  flow  into  the  larger  question, 
as  to  whether  non-existence  is  not  after  all 
better  than  existence ;  for  if  to  sleep  is  better 
than  to  be  awake,  then  not  to  be  is  better 
than  to  sleep. 

Neither  will  I  compare  civilization  with 
the  barbarism  from  which,  as  we  are  told,  it 
sprang.  The  gulf  that  separates  the  two  is 
now  so  wide  that  it  cannot  be  easily  spanned, 
even  by  the  help  of  the  imagination.  Bar- 
barism contains  so  much  that  is  foreign  to 
us,  so  much  that  is  repulsive  to  us,  that  we 
cannot  enter  into  the  heart  of  it.  Our 
thought  of  it  is  apt  to  swing  from  a  sickly 
romanticism  on  the  one  side,  to  a  superficial 
literalism  on  the  other  ;  and  even  could  we 
make  the  comparison  fairly  it  would  involve 
questions  larger  and  more  fundamental  than 
I  propose  to  raise  to-day. 

As  we  avoid  complications  with  scientific 
theories  on  the  one  side,  so  will  we  avoid 
theological  complications  on  the  other.  I 
will  not  take  you  to  the  garden  of  Eden, 


THE    GAIN    OF    HISTORY     241 

that  we  may  judge  whether  the  so-called  fall 
of  man  was  really  a  fall  or  an  elevation.  The 
great  mystery  of  evil  we  will  not  attempt  to 
sound. 

Avoiding  then  all  matters  of  theory,  we 
will  take  history  as  it  actually,  or,  at  least, 
as  it  openly,  begins.  We  will  take  it  at  the 
moment,  at  least,  when  it  begins  properly  to 
be  called  history.  Such  a  moment  was  that 
when  the  Chinese,  some  three  thousand  cen- 
turies before  Christ,  under  the  inspiration  of 
their  emperor  Fo-hi,  awoke  to  the  con- 
sciousness of  the  higher  life,  and  found 
themselves  with  the  rudiments  of  a  science, 
a  philosophy,  a  literature,  and  a  religion. 
Such  a  moment  was  that  in  which  the 
ancient  Iranians,  under  the  inspiration  of 
Zoroaster,  awoke  to  the  consciousness  of 
the  great  conflict  between  good  and  evil ;  or 
that  in  which  the  ancient  Indian  raised  the 
songs,  sweet  and  lofty,  many  of  them,  which 
we  find  embodied  in  the  early  Vedas.  The 
true  moment  for  comparison  would  be,  could 
we  reach  it,  that  which  our  Aryan  ancestors 
occupied  at  the  time  of  their  dispersion. 
The  nature  of  their  civilization  we  can 
guess  with  some  approximation   to  the  truth 

from  inherited  customs  and  from  the  testi- 
16 


242     THE   GAIN   OF   HISTORY 

mony  of  language.  We  can,  however,  get 
the  fullest  revelation  from  the  Vedic  liter- 
ature to  which  I  have  just  referred,  the 
product  of  the  children  who  stood  the  near- 
est to  them,  and  who  received  from  them 
the  fullest  inheritance.  These  ancient  Ar- 
yans were,  as  I  have  said,  our  ancestors.  We 
can  look  back  and  see  them,  dimly,  in  their 
ancient  home,  that  home  which  we  may  call 
ours  also.  We  can  catch  some  faint  vision 
of  their  civilization,  we  can  hear  the  distant 
echoes  of  their  songs.  We  find  them  al- 
ready surrounded  with  many  of  the  comforts, 
many  of  the  luxuries  of  civilization,  and  not 
wholly  free,  though  more  free  than  ourselves, 
from  the  vices  of  civilization.  The  family 
was  there,  with  its  sanctity  and  its  mutual 
helpfulness.  In  them  the  race  had  begun  its 
life  of  thought,  of  faith,  of  aspiration,  its  life 
of  questioning  and  struggle,  its  moral  and  its 
aesthetic  life.  They  were  our  fathers.  We 
look  back  upon  them  over  these  four  thou- 
sand years,  if  we  may  use  so  definite  a  num- 
ber where  all  is  so  vague  and  uncertain. 
The  space  that  separates  us  includes  all  that 
we  know  as  to  the  history  of  the  family  of 
nations  to  which  we  belong.  It  includes  the 
wanderings  of  our  race,  their  battlings,  their 


THE    GAIN    OF    HISTORY     243 

triumphs.  It  includes  the  beauty  of  Greece, 
the  stateliness  of  Rome,  the  philosophy  of 
Germany,  the  practicality  of  England,  the 
liberty  of  America.  It  includes  the  hoary 
traditions  of  what  we  call  the  old,  the  science 
of  what  we  call  the  new.  It  is  worth  while, 
as  we  look  back  to  where  our  fathers  stood 
at  the  very  beginning  of  this  mighty  process, 
to  ask  ourselves  whether,  or  wherein,  we  are 
better  or  better  off  than  they. 

In  entering  upon  the  discussion  before 
us,  it  may  be  well  to  ask  what  interest  we 
have  in  its  decision.  On  which  side  would 
the  natural  faith  that  all  is  for  the  best  range 
itself?  We  are  naturally  optimistic,  and  I 
think  that  we  are  apt  to  assume  that  faith  in 
the  progress  of  the  race  is  demanded  by  any 
form  of  optimism.  We  ask,  Can  all  the 
experience  and  struggles  of  these  long  ages 
have  been  in  vain  ?  This  faith  in  the  steady 
advancement  of  the  world  is  specially  strong 
in  the  period  of  youth.  So  long  as  the 
individual  is  gaining  every  day  in  strength 
and  knowledge  and  mastery  of  himself  and 
of  the  world,  so  long  does  he  feel  that 
humanity  is  also  making  constant  gains. 
Perhaps  the  first  feelings  that,  after  all,  this 
may  not  be  so,  that  the  race  may  be,  if  not 


244     THE    GAIN    OF    HISTORY 

absolutely  degenerating,  at  least  stationary, 
marks  the  moment  when  the  first  impulse 
of  youth  has  spent  itself,  when  the  man  has 
reached  the  highest  point  in  his  ascent,  and 
pauses  before  taking  the  downward  path. 
In  many  cases,  however,  this  faith  maintains 
itself  during  the  whole  life ;  and  this  is 
especially  the  case  in  the  youth  of  a  nation. 
The  nation's  advance  is  felt  to  typify  the 
movement  of  the  world.  The  individual 
catches  the  spirit  of  his  people  and  feels 
possessed  of  a  perpetual  youth.  The  con- 
verse of  this  may  be  seen  in  the  fact  that 
when  the  Roman  empire  seemed  sinking 
into  decay,  falling  through  the  rottenness  of 
its  own  corruption,  the  belief  became  wide- 
spread that  the  world  itself  was  hastening  to 
its  end.  In  the  midst  of  the  active,  trium- 
phant life  of  to-day,  anything  that  casts  a 
doubt  over  the  faith  that  universal  progress 
is  the  manifest  destiny  of  man  seems  to 
build  a  wall  about  the  horizon  which  stifles 
us  by  its  closeness.  Whatever  truth  there 
may  be  in  this  faith,  perhaps  it  assumes  too 
much.  The  faith  of  optimism  may  be  pre- 
sented in  another  form.  If  the  world  is 
the  best  possible,  should  it  not  be  at  every 
stage  the   best  possible  ?     Would    not  our 


THE    GAIN    OF    HISTORY     245 

faith  be  better  satisfied  with  the  belief  in  a 
system  of  compensations,  by  virtue  of  which 
no  one  age  can  boast  itself  over  another. 
I  think  that  we  are  apt  to  assume  too  hastily 
that  the  earlier  exists  for  the  sake  of  the 
later.  We  are  apt  to  think  of  childhood 
and  youth  as  existing  for  the  sake  of  matur- 
ity :  might  we  not  as  easily  look  upon 
maturity  as  existing  for  the  sake  of  child- 
hood and  youth  ?  Because  we  like  fruit  we 
look  upon  the  flowers  of  the  peach  and  pear 
as  existing  for  its  sake ;  but  because  we  like 
roses  and  lilies  we  take  it  for  granted  that 
the  seed  vessels  exist  that  flowers  may  be 
produced.  Whatever  interests  us  we  take 
to  be  the  final  cause.  So  we  men  in  our 
philosophies  look  upon  childhood  and  youth 
as  merely  transitional  stages.  But  why 
might  not  a  less  interested  observer  look 
upon  children  as  we  do  upon  the  flowers 
of  the  woods  or  the  garden  ?  So  we  look 
upon  the  earlier  civilization  as  merely  a 
preparation  for  the  later.  Spinoza  had  a 
great  thought  in  his  mind  when  he  denied 
the  principle  of  final  causes.  Every  moment 
and  every  thing  he  felt  had  its  end  in  it- 
self. He  could  conceive  of  nothing  as 
existing    for   the    sake    of   something    else. 


246     THE    GAIN    OF   HISTORY 

The  thought  seemed  to  him  to  degrade  the 
world.  We  may  not,  perhaps,  accept  this 
position  in  its  completeness,  but  I  think  we 
may  at  least  affirm  that  nothing  exists  merely 
for  something  else ;  that  however  much 
each  may  contribute  to  that  which  comes 
after,  each  has  sufficient  excuse  for  being 
in  itself.  This  view  applied  to  history 
would  introduce  a  great  repose  into  the 
scenes  which  are  pictured  there.  We  should 
feel  that  history  did  not  exist  merely  for 
its  consummation.  You  hurry  through  a 
novel  to  find  that  John  and  Susan  were 
married  at  the  end.  But  the  interest,  the 
substance  of  the  story,  does  not  consist  in 
this.  You  read  as  much  in  the  marriage 
column  of  every  newspaper.  When  you 
have  reached  that  the  story  is  finished. 
The  child  in  the  theatre  is  hurried  on  in 
breathless  eagerness  to  the  last  act  of  the 
tragedy  which  seems  to  him  to  cap  the  climax 
to  the  whole.  But  this  is  the  moment  when 
the  old  play-goer  is  apt  to  leave.  The  play 
for  him  is  already  over.  The  histories  of 
philosophy  give  us  in  few  words  the  result 
of  this  system  and  of  that ;  the  young  stu- 
dent studies  it,  and  fancies  that  he  has  got 
the  gist  of  all.     As  he  grows  older  he  learns 


THE    GAIN    OF   HISTORY     247 

that  the  value  of  each  system  consists  less 
in  its  result  than  in  its  unfolding.  It  is 
so  in  history.  We  hurry  on  from  point 
to  point  to  reach  the  end,  but  the  history 
is  going  on  all  the  time.  Each  moment 
has  its  own  worth  and  beauty.  Our  preach- 
ers and  moralists  are  apt  to  point  to  the 
slowness  of  God's  working,  to  check  by 
the  thought  our  restless  impetuosity  of  pur- 
suit. The  moral  is  a  good  one,  but  it  is  for 
the  most  part  too  superficial.  God,  we  are 
told,  was  so  many  myriad  of  centuries  em- 
ployed in  fitting  up  the  earth  for  man,  and 
so  many  more  in  leading  man  up  to  the 
place  he  occupies  to-day ;  God's  plans 
move  slowly,  but  they  reach  their  issue 
without  fail.  If  God's  only  object  had  been 
to  create  man,  or  even  man  of  the  nine- 
teenth century,  I  think  that  the  work  would 
have  been  more  quickly  done.  If  the  work 
moved  slowly  it  was  because  each  stage  in  it 
was  an  end  in  itself.  If  love  brooded  over 
all,  each  was  in  its  turn  beloved.  The  plan 
was  accomplished  at  every  moment. 

I  had  a  friend  who  in  travelling  thought 
that  he  had  learned  no  city  till  he  had  so 
identified  himself  with  it  as  to  have  some 
feeling  as  to  what  it  would  be  to  live  there. 


248     THE    GAIN    OF   HISTORY 

If  we  would  study  history  aright,  we  should 
so  identify  ourselves  with  every  epoch  as  to 
feel  that  it  was  worthy  to  stand  out  by  itself 
from  among  the  rest,  and  have  all  minister 
to  it.  We  should  then  understand  better 
why  it  was  that,  as  we  phrase  it,  God  did 
not  hurry  through  his  work.  The  assump- 
tions of  our  conceit  might  be  disturbed,  but 
we  should  be  brought  into  a  healthier  rela- 
tion with  the  world. 

On  the  other  hand,  as  Ruskin  affirms  that 
no  picture  is  complete  that  has  not  an  open- 
ing into  the  infinite,  so  it  may  be  that  no 
age  is  complete  without  the  possibility  and 
the  fact  of  a  progression  towards  something 
better,  and  that  progress  is  thus  essential  to 
the  optimistic  view  even  of  the  earlier  epochs 
considered  in  themselves.  But  even  this 
fact  would  put  the  ages  upon  a  certain 
equality.  The  same  infinitude  of  possibili- 
ties would  stretch  before  the  latest  as  before 
the  earliest;  and  in  the  presence  of  this 
great  fact  the  later  would  hardly  exult  itself 
overmuch  in  respect  to  the  earlier. 

Among  the  circumstances  that  may  tend 
to  the  exaggeration  of  the  actual  rate  of 
progress  which  society  may  be  making,  is 
found  the  fact  that  we  start  in  our  estimate 


THE   GAIN   OF   HISTORY     249 

from  some  comparatively  recent  period  of 
history.  We  look  back,  for  instance,  to  the 
period  of  persecution.  Looking  back  upon 
such  points,  we  feel,  truly,  that  we  have 
actually  advanced.  I  need  hardly  remark 
that  the  sweeping  away  of  abuses  that  have 
been  produced  in  the  course  of  history  does 
not  imply  that  history  itself  is  an  advance. 
A  man  who  is  rowing  up  a  stream  may, 
through  a  moment  of  inadvertence,  or 
through  the  striking  of  some  fierce  rapid, 
be  whirled  backward  down  the  stream  up 
which  he  has  advanced  with  so  much  diffi- 
culty. When  he  recovers  himself,  and  be- 
gins again  to  ply  the  oar,  he  advances, 
certainly,  but  would  hardly  consider  himself 
as  making  actual  progress.  We  may  illus- 
trate the  same  thing  by  the  triumphs  of  the 
medical  profession.  This  is  continually 
accomplishing  wonders  in  the  struggle 
against  death,  yet  death,  in  every  individ- 
ual case,  wins  the  victory  at  last,  and  that 
too,  in  almost  every  case,  before  the  natural 
term  of  life  has  been  reached;  and  in  spite 
of  all  discovery  and  all  improvement  the 
average  length  of  life  has  not  materially 
increased.  The  profession  finds  enough  to 
do    to   enable   the   world   to  hold   its  own 


250     THE    GAIN   OF    HISTORY 

against  the  rapidly  increasing  strength  and 
hurry  of  the  current.  Much  of  the  so- 
called  advance  of  our  civilization  is  of  this 
nature.  It  enables  us  to  hold,  or  to  regain, 
our  own.  Then,  too,  I  think  that  we  are 
apt  to  look  upon  the  past  in  the  most 
unfavorable  light.  Thus,  for  instance,  we 
think  of  the  Roman  empire  as  a  period  of 
universal  corruption.  We  forget  the  state- 
ment of  Gibbon,  that  the  period  between 
the  death  of  Domitian  and  the  accession  of 
Commodus,  a  period  of  about  ninety  years, 
was  that  in  which  the  condition  of  the 
human  race  was  the  most  happy  and 
prosperous. 

On  the  other  hand,  facts  are  often  in- 
sisted upon  for  the  purpose  of  lowering  our 
pride,  which,  properly  understood,  would 
increase  it.  Thus  we  are  told  how  the 
Chinese  anticipated  many  of  the  discoveries 
of  which  we  boast ;  that  they  discovered, 
for  instance,  and  applied  the  properties  of 
the  magnetic  needle  in  the  twelfth  century 
before  Christ;  or  that  the  Egyptians  pos- 
sessed mechanical  appliances  which  sur- 
passed anything  with  which  we  are  ac- 
quainted. A  further  question,  however, 
arises  with  respect  to  the   relation  of  these 


THE    GAIN    OF    HISTORY     251 

discoveries  and  inventions  to  the  general 
mass  of  knowledge,  and  the  use  that  was 
made  of  them.  If  I  wished  to  exalt  our 
period  I  would  take  just  such  a  fact  as  this 
early  discovery  of  the  magnetic  needle  by 
the  Chinese.  I  would  show  that  with  them 
it  was  a  single  fact,  accidentally  hit  upon, 
while  with  us  it  has  its  place  in  the  great 
organized  body  of  scientific  knowledge  ;  and 
I  would  ask,  What  have  the  Chinese  accom- 
plished with  the  magnetic  needle  through 
all  these  centuries  ?  Europe  has  by  its  aid 
explored  the  ocean  ;  it  has  penetrated  to  the 
Arctic  seas  ;  it  has  discovered  new  worlds ; 
what  have  the  Chinese  to  show  for  its  pos- 
session ?  This  comparison  makes  clear  that 
what  with  them  was  an  accident,  with  us  is 
an  integral  part  of  our  civilization.  Or  what 
has  Egypt  to  show  for  its  wonderful  machi- 
nery ?  Its  most  characteristic  work  would 
seem  to  be  the  pyramids,  which  are  impos- 
ing indeed,  but  which  are  simply  symmetri- 
cal piles  of  stone. 

If,  after  having  thus  cleared  away  certain 
prejudices,  on  the  one  side  and  the  other, 
we  now  look  directly  at  the  field  before  us, 
our  civilization  divides  itself  into  two  ele- 
ments :  the  one  that  of  life,  the  other  that  of 


252     THE    GAIN    OF   HISTORY 

thought.  The  world  that  opens  before  us 
is  so  vast  and  complex  as  to  discourage  all 
attempt  at  presentation,  but  we  shall  seek  to 
distinguish  only  the  most  general  tendencies. 
These  can  perhaps  be  presented  in  few 
words,  and  if  the  statement  be  true,  its  truth 
will  be  obvious  with  very  little  proof  or 
illustration.  And  we  shall  pass  with  special 
rapidity  over  the  first  of  these  elements, 
dwelling  chiefly  upon  the  second,  as  more 
in  accordance  with  the  character  of  this 
occasion. 

It  is  a  universally  admitted  fact  that  the 
tendency  of  our  society  is  towards  individ- 
ualization. This  tendency  is  based  upon 
what  may  be  called  the  arithmetical  view  of 
life ;  the  view,  namely,  that  regards  society 
as  made  up  of  units,  any  one  of  which  is 
equal  to  any  other.  The  early  society  we 
may  perhaps  assume  to  be,  under  one  form 
or  another,  patriarchal.  It  was  thus  an 
organization  from  which  each  individual 
derived  his  worth,  in  which  each  had  his 
place,  and  in  which,  while  true  to  his  posi- 
tion, each  had  his  function  and  his  support. 
In  time  of  scarcity  all  indeed  suffered  to- 
gether, but  the  prosperity  of  the  whole 
involved  the  prosperity  of  each.     There  was 


THE    GAIN    OF    HISTORY     253 

a  lack  of  stimulus,  but  there  was  security ; 
there  was  a  lack  of  enterprise,  but  there  were 
the  old-fashion  virtues  of  fidelity  and  loyalty. 
The  so-called  patriarchal  institution  of  the 
South  was,  in  many  respects,  a  mere  travesty 
of  the  normal  condition  of  this  form  of  life. 
It  was  the  creature  of  one  age  astray  amid  the 
life  of  another.  It  was  like  a  bird  of  night 
bewildered  amid  the  glare  of  day ;  or  it 
was  like  a  raft  fitted  for  the  smooth  current 
of  the  river,  but  soon  dashed  to  pieces  amid 
the  whirl  of  the  ocean.  Such  was  the  patri- 
archal institution,  adapted  to  the  repose  of 
earlier  forms  of  society,  but  amid  the  inten- 
sity, the  change,  the  hurry,  the  turmoil  of  the 
present,  it  was  out  of  place  and  was  thus 
fruitful  of  evil.  Thus  the  painful  breaking 
up  and  separation  of  families  was  a  feature 
of  it  hardly  to  be  avoided  in  the  circum- 
stances of  our  present  life.  It  was  like  the 
breaking  up  of  the  river  raft  upon  the  ocean. 
The  new  position  of  the  individual  is 
more  manly,  more  independent  than  the  old, 
but  involves,  in  a  multitude  of  cases,  the 
life-long,  hand-to-hand  battle  with  the  wolf 
at  the  door,  of  which  the  old  knew  nothing. 
It  leads  labor  and  capital  to  be  regarded  as 
opposed    to    one    another,    as     having    not 


254     THE   GAIN   OF   HISTORY 

merely  different  but  antagonistic  interests. 
The  strife  between  these  two  interests  is 
beginning  to  constitute  one  of  the  great  fea- 
tures of  the  time.  Of  course,  organization 
of  some  sort  is  the  remedy ;  but  thus  far 
organization  has  taken  chiefly  the  form  of 
trades-unions.  These  institutions  are  often 
of  the  highest  benefit,  but  in  them  the  prin- 
ciple of  individualization  has  been  carried  to 
its  extreme.  This  involves  a  complete  lev- 
elling process,  and  the  arithmetical  view  of 
society  reaches  its  extreme  results.  One 
great  object  of  the  trades-unions  should  be 
to  render  possible  individual  advancement 
in  any  trade.  The  members  of  it  should  be 
able  to  rise  by  means  of  it.  But  this  would 
break  up  the  arithmetical  equality  of  the 
units,  and  the  trades-unions  seek  to  render 
this  impossible. 

We  are  in  the  habit  of  defining  progress 
as  the  passage  from  simple  to  more  complex 
relations.  If  this  be  progress,  and  if  the 
individual  exists  for  the  sake  of  society,  there 
has  certainly  been  advance;  for  our  society 
is  infinitely  more  complex  than  it  was  once. 
But  if  society  exists  for  the  sake  of  the  in- 
dividual, then  our  doubt  returns ;  for  while 
society  has  been  growing  complex,  the  life 


THE    GAIN    OF   HISTORY     255 

of  the  individual  has  been,  in  many  cases, 
growing  bare.  The  workman  in  a  pistol 
factory  could  once  make  a  pistol;  now  he 
knows  about  nothing  except  a  minute  part 
of  the  pistol.  In  pin  factories  many  men 
pass  their  life  in  sharpening  pins.  Their 
activity  is  literally  reduced  to  a  point.  The 
activity  of  teachers  in  our  public  schools  is 
becoming  confined  to  the  passing  of  scholars 
over  and  over,  not  a  single  text-book  merely, 
but  a  few  pages  of  a  text-book.  Thus  indi- 
vidual lives  tend  to  become  not  mere  units, 
but  unorganized  units,  mere  points  without 
extension.  Very  much  the  same  arithmeti- 
cal principle  is  found  in  a  democratic  govern- 
ment. It  is  a  mistake  to  think  that  a  de- 
mocracy is  specially  unmanageable  in  a  time 
of  crisis.  Its  great  power  is  found  in  its 
ability  to  meet  crisis.  In  a  crisis  men  are 
valued  not  as  mere  units,  but  for  what  each 
is  worth  ;  and  in  a  democracy  the  men  hav- 
ing most  ability  are  soon  pushed  .forward 
eagerly  to  the  front.  Under  this  changed 
aspect  of  affairs  the  old  virtues  shine  forth 
in  their  old  glory.  But  when  the  crisis  is 
over,  we  fall  back  upon  the  arithmetical 
theory  of  life :  one  unit  is  worth  as  much  as 
another.     No  longer  is  the  best  man  sought 


256     THE    GAIN   OF    HISTORY 

for  the  place  of  trust.  The  offices  are  to  be 
filled  by  the  people,  not  for  them.  Hence 
come  the  cries  of  Rotation  in  office,  and  To 
the  victors  belong  the  spoils ;  principles 
which,  carried  out,  would  lead  to  the  destruc- 
tion of  a  nationality,  as  truly  as  the  disinte- 
gration of  the  stone  would  lead  to  the  down- 
fall of  the  building  of  which  it  was  a  part. 
I  do  not  forget  the  immense  advantages  of 
a  democracy.  Perhaps  the  greatest  of  these 
is  that  of  reaction  against  abuse.  No  de- 
mocracy, worthy  of  the  name,  can  be  long 
oppressed  even  by  itself.  It  is  thus  a  pro- 
tection against  the  accumulated  evils  of 
society.  Compared  with  former  tyrannies, 
even  with  present  monarchies  and  aristocra- 
cies, it  is  to  be  preferred.  But  these  evils 
against  which  it  guards  are  the  products  of 
history,  and  the  removal  of  them  by  history 
does  not  leave  us  its  debtors.  It  is  as  if  a 
river  should  sweep  away  in  one  generation 
a  sand-bank  which  it  had  deposited  in  a 
former.  At  best  liberty  is  not  progress.  It 
is  a  condition  of  progress.  Its  worth  de- 
pends upon  its  use. 

I  know  that  the  process  that  we  have 
described  leads  to  great  wealth.  It  develops 
the  resources  of  a  state.     But  wealth  is  not 


THE   GAIN    OF    HISTORY     257 

an  end  in  itself:  like  liberty,  it  is  a  means 
to  an  end.  Its  value  depends  upon  its  use. 
So  far  as  it  is  used  for  the  promotion  of 
knowledge,  for  the  production,  or  the  popu- 
larization, of  real  beauty,  or  for  the  ends  of 
philanthropy  and  religion,  so  far  it  may  be 
an  object  of  just  pride ;  but  so  far  as  it 
renders  society  feeble  or  corrupt,  so  far  as  it 
is  absorbed  in  extravagant  tastelessness,  so 
far  as  it  makes  life  more  difficult  instead  of 
easier,  so  far  it  is  not  a  blessing,  but  a  curse. 
The  poorest  home  beautified  by  taste,  which 
is  no  mean  form  of  genius,  is  richer  than  the 
costliest  one  burdened  by  deformities  of 
upholstery  that  represent  merely  money. 
Labor-saving  machines  that  make  work ; 
help  that  hinders ;  luxury  that  burdens ; 
comforts  that  enervate,  are  like  an  over- 
abundant currency  that  gives  everybody  the 
sense  of  being  rich  while  the  cost  of  living 
is  so  enhanced  thereby  that  all  but  the  very 
rich  are  poor. 

But  it  is  of  its  knowledge  that  the  age 
makes  its  greatest  boast.  The  achievements 
of  science  we  feel  to  be  its  greatest  glory. 
In  this  is  found  the  fruit  of  the  weary  years 
through  which  the  generations  have  toiled 
up  and  on  to  the  proud  position  which  we 
17 


258     THE   GAIN   OF   HISTORY 

occupy  to-day.  But  here  also  the  question 
with  which  we  started  presses  upon  us  with 
as  much  pertinence  and  pertinacity  as  ever. 

We  find  voices,  and  voices  too  of  author- 
ity, not  lacking  to  throw  discredit  upon  the 
fact  of  gain.  Goethe  was  fortunate  in  that 
the  scientific  as  well  as  the  aesthetic  world  was 
thrown  open  to  him.  He  represented  the 
science  of  his  day  as  truly  as  he  did  its 
literature.  He  indeed  opened  one  of  the 
lines  of  thought  which  has  led  to  the  richest 
results.  His  great  work,  the  Faust,  was 
doubtless  an  outgrowth  from  his  own  life. 
The  poem  begins  with  a  wail  of  sorrow  for 
the  absolute  impossibility  of  knowing  any- 
thing. Faust  had  studied  everything  only 
to  find  that  we  can  know  nothing.  The 
Faust  has  been  called  the  saddest  of  poems. 
The  consciousness  of  this  hopeless  igno- 
rance is  one  of  the  chief  elements  of  this 
sadness,  and  the  poem  is  all  the  sadder 
because  it,  in  this,  expresses  the  feeling 
which  so  many  share  to-day. 

Goethe  was  probably  the  last  man  able  to 
represent  all  science.  In  these  days  science 
is  too  vast  to  be  condensed  into  a  single 
focus.  A  single  branch  of  one  science,  if  it 
be  studied  faithfully,  is  enough  to  occupy  a 


THE   GAIN    OF   HISTORY     259 

lifetime.  Goethe  was  fortunate  in  standing 
at  the  parting  of  the  ways.  Perhaps  few,  if 
any,  at  the  present  day  have  such  varied 
knowledge  as  Herbert  Spencer.  Perhaps 
thus  he,  as  truly  as  any  other,  may  be  con- 
sidered a  representative  man  of  the  age.  If 
he  cannot  fill  this  place  perfectly,  it  is  be- 
cause no  man  can  fill  it.  It  is  interesting  to 
notice  that  he  takes  up  the  cry  of  Faust, 
only  more  cheerfully.  He  begins  his  work 
by  pointing  us  down  into  the  abyss  of  the 
unknowable.  Alpine  travellers  tell  us  that 
sometimes  a  terrible  abyss  is  bridged  over 
by  a  reach  of  hard,  drifted  snow,  so  solid 
that  one  can  walk  over  it,  for  the  most  part, 
in  security ;  so  thin  that  a  stroke  of  the 
Alpenstock  will  pierce  it,  leaving  an  opening 
through  which  may  be  discerned  the  blue 
vacancy  beneath.  Herbert  Spencer  drives 
his  staff  through  the  thin  stratum  of  drifted 
words,  of  consolidated  forms  of  thought,  of 
congealed  tradition  which  we  have  felt  to  be 
so  solid  beneath  our  feet,  and  bids  us  look 
and  see  the  fathomless  depths  of  the  un- 
knowable above  which  we  stand.  The  very 
words  in  which  we  express  our  science,  the 
very  ideas  which  form  its  substance,  the  ideas 
of  space  and  force  and  the  rest,  which  to- 


i6o    THE    GAIN    OF   HISTORY 

gether  make  up  our  science,  these  dissolve 
themselves  into  irreconcilable  contradictions 
at  our  touch,  just  as  a  bit  of  snow,  when  we 
grasp  it,  melts  and  runs  out  through  our 
fingers,  leaving  our  hand  empty.  He  tells 
us  indeed  that  what  we  call  our  knowledge 
bears  a  certain  constant  relation  to  reality, 
so  that  practically  we  have  enough  to  guide 
us  in  our  lives,  and  bids  us  be  content  with 
this  practical  sufficiency.  But  does  this  sat- 
isfy the  great  longing  for  knowledge,  for 
knowledge  for  its  own  sake,  which  has  been 
the  inspiration  of  the  race?  The  practical 
results  of  knowledge  have  been  so  vast 
because  they  have  been  incidental.  The 
Chinese  have  cared  for  no  knowledge  save 
that  which  is  practical,  and  therefore  their 
arts  have  accomplished  so  little.  Herbert 
Spencer  himself  is  not  satisfied  with  this. 
His  inspiration  is  the  pursuit  of  knowledge 
for  the  sake  of  knowing.  What  practical 
concern  have  we  with  the  method  of  the 
origin  of  life  upon  the  world?  what  with 
the  succession  of  geologic  strata  ?  what  with 
the  thin  nebulous  matter  out  of  which  the 
globe  may  have  been  formed  ?  As  matters 
of  knowledge  these  things  stir  our  deepest 
life,  otherwise  they  concern  us  not;   and  it 


THE    GAIN    OF    HISTORY     261 

is  questions  of  this  nature  that  most  absorb 
the  interest  of  Herbert   Spencer. 

I  am  not  asking  whether  the  result  of 
which  I  have  spoken  be  or  be  not  true,  but 
whether  it  be  a  thing  to  exult  over.  When 
we  look  back  at  the  noble  lives  of  men  who 
have  toiled  after  knowledge,  who  have  toiled 
cheerfully,  hopefully,  through  all  hardship 
and  pain,  and  have  died  fancying  with  joy 
that  they  had  done  something  to  increase  the 
sum  of  human  knowledge,  and  then  look 
upon  this  as  the  end,  and  utter,  as  the  result 
of  all,  the  words  that  consumed  the  heart  of 
Faust,  "  We  find  that  we  can  know  noth- 
ing," I  confess  that  the  end  seems  hardly  to 
crown  the  work.  We  might  almost  envy 
our  Aryan  fathers,  as  they  pushed  forth 
from  the  strand,  full  of  the  enthusiasm  of 
discovery,  if  now  the  voyage  is  practically 
ended,  and  we  must  turn  our  prows  in  other 
directions  for  other  gains,  loading  our  ships 
with  merchandise  instead  of  truth. 

Let  us  now  leave  the  extreme  results  of 
Herbert  Spencer,  and  glance  at  those  who 
take  the  world  more  in  earnest.  Perhaps 
we  should  first  meet  Biichner  and  those  who 
on  the  whole  agree  with  him.  These  reduce 
the    universe    to    matter    and    force.     Here 


262     THE   GAIN   OF   HISTORY 

again  I  do  not  dispute  the  result,  I  ask 
merely  whether  it  is  gain  ;  whether  even  if 
it  be  true  and  worth  the  knowing,  as  all 
truth  is,  it  is  a  discovery  to  be  boasted  over. 
It  is  a  very  singular  fact  that  if  this  be  the 
result  of  our  modern  science,  we  have 
reached  substantially  the  position  occupied 
by  the  Chinese  some  three  thousand  years 
before  Christ.  The  earliest  book  of  the 
Chinese,  so  far  as  it  can  be  comprehended, 
represents  the  universe  as  made  up  of  two 
elements  existing  in  every  object  in  various 
proportions.  Of  these  two  elements,  one 
was  active,  the  other  inert.  We  may  call 
them,  therefore,  force  and  matter.  The 
modern  science  understands  better  the  laws 
of  force.  It  can  calculate  the  transference 
of  force ;  but  its  elements  are  lifeless  in  its 
hands.  The  matter  is  dead  matter,  the  force 
is  aimless  force.  We  have  merely  super- 
ficial and  mechanical  relations.  With  the 
early  Chinese  the  elements  were  living,  were 
divine ;  at  once  the  substance  and  the  rulers 
of  the  world.  And  when  I  look  at  the  liv- 
ing world  about  me,  I  confess  that  of  the 
two  these  seem  nearer  right.  At  least,  I 
do  not  feel  inclined  to  exult  greatly  at  our 
gain. 


THE    GAIN    OF    HISTORY     263 

The  views  that  I  have  considered  are 
extreme.  They  mark  rather  tendencies  than 
accepted  results  of  our  science.  The  truest 
science  has  less  of  theory.  It  concentrates 
itself  upon  the  business  right  before  it.  This 
business  is,  under  one  form  or  another, 
analysis.  Nothing  is  more  inspiring  than 
its  triumphs  in  this  work,  but  at  the  last  it 
gives  us,  as  it  is  its  business  to  do,  elements 
in  the  place  of  the  wholes  which  we  put  into 
its  hands.  Now  let  us  have  the  elements  by 
all  means,  but  not  at  the  expense  of  the 
wholes.  Of  the  two,  these  are  vastly  more 
important.  The  sense  of  the  glory  of  the 
heavens  is  worth  more  than  the  knowledge 
of  all  that  the  physicist  can  tell  us  about 
them.  The  sense  of  the  beauty  of  the 
flower,  the  sense  of  the  life  that  embodies 
itself  in  its  sweet  and  delicate  form,  is  worth 
more  than  all  that  science  can  tell  us  about 
it;  just  as  the  genius  of  Shakespeare,  the 
thought  of  Plato,  and  the  soul  of  Jesus,  are 
worth  more  than  all  the  chemist  or  the 
physiologist  could  tell  us  about  them.  The 
burial  urn  contains  the  ashes  of  the  dead, 
but  that  which  made  their  life  no  urn  can 
hold.  And  everything  that  lives,  nay,  every- 
thing that  is,  this  measureless  universe  itself, 


264     THE   GAIN   OF   HISTORY 

has  its  reality  in  its  wholeness,  not  in  its 
parts. 

Our  Aryan  fathers,  if  we  may  judge,  as 
before,  from  those  of  their  children  who 
were  most  closely  united  with  them,  stood 
with  glad  awe  in  the  presence  of  a  living 
universe.     When  the  poet  sings  to-day,  — 

"The  sun  himself  shines  heartily, 
And  shares  the  joy  he  brings,' ' 

the  words  hardly  have  a  meaning.  The 
mechanical  view  of  the  world  is  so  habitual 
with  us  that  we  cannot  share  the  fine  insight 
which  the  words  express.  To  our  fathers 
they  would  have  expressed  a  simple  truth. 
The  fire  on  the  hearth,  the  breeze  that  swept 
across  the  earth,  the  lightning  that  flashed 
in  the  heavens,  the  dawn  that  ushered  in  the 
day,  the  deep  expanse  of  the  heaven  above 
us,  the  blue  depths  into  which  our  gaze  may 
press  only  to  lose  itself  in  the  illimitable 
reaches  of  light,  —  all  of  these  were  living, 
helpful,  and  glad.  All  shared  the  joy  they 
brought. 

They  were  not  only  living,  they  were 
divine.  I  remember  one  night  in  mid-ocean 
when  the  sea  was  specially  luminous. 
Wherever    the    surface    of   the    water   was 


THE   GAIN   OF   HISTORY     265 

broken  the  strange  soft  light  gleamed  forth. 
The  wake  of  the  vessel,  the  track  of  the 
black-fish,  the  crests  of  the  waves  far  as  the 
eye  could  reach,  seemed  touched  with  flame. 
It  seemed  as  if  we  were  sailing  on  a  sea  of 
light  just  hidden  by  a  thin  veil  of  waters, 
and  wherever  the  veil  was  broken  through 
the  light  shone  forth.  Something  like  this 
seems  to  have  been  the  view  which  our 
fathers  took  of  the  universe.  It  was  divine, 
and  wherever  the  uniformity  of  its  surface 
was  broken  through  the  divinity  shone  forth. 

I  grant  that  this  was  an  extreme  view, 
in  its  details  hardly  defensible  to-day.  All 
that  I  would  urge  is  that  perhaps  our  bare, 
mechanical  theories  are  equally  extreme. 

But,  it  may  be  urged,  if  our  physical  theo- 
ries are  too  materialistic,  our  religion  is 
spiritual  enough  to  counterbalance  them :  in 
this  at  least  there  has  been  only  gain.  But 
here  we  must  notice  that  a  godless  world 
implies  a  worldless  God.  There  may  be  a 
spot  where  pure  spirit  has  its  home  ;  but 
here,  upon  this  earth,  the  body  without  the 
spirit  we  call  dead,  and  the  spirit  without 
the  body  we  call  a  ghost.  Just  so  far  as 
our  view  of  the  world  is  materialistic  is  our 
religion  ghostly.     To   speak    more    techni- 


266     THE    GAIN    OF    HISTORY 

cally,  we  cannot  place  the  infinite  and  the 
finite  over  against  one  another.  If  we 
attempt  this,  instead  of  the  infinite  and  the 
finite   we  have  two    finites   only. 

Perhaps  I  may  seem  to  have  erred  in 
speaking  thus  on  an  occasion  like  the  pres- 
ent, to  have  shown  too  little  sympathy  with 
the  results  that,  in  many  aspects  of  them,  are 
the  glory  of  our  present  age.  If  I  fully 
accepted  the  negative  results  which  we  may 
seem  to  have  reached,  I  think  I  should  have 
taken  an  hour  less  genial  to  urge  them. 
But  I  am  a  believer  in  the  present  and  in 
the  future;  I  believe  in  the  great  law  of 
progress  in  the  world  of  life.  I  believe, 
however,  that  the  analysis  which  I  have  just 
offered  is  in  the  main  correct.  The  ele- 
ments which  we  have  examined  are  the 
peculiar  elements  of  the  life  of  the  present. 
If  then  the  world  is  really  gaining,  the  con- 
ditions of  the  gain  are  to  be  found  in  just 
these  elements.  That  it  is  gaining  can  be 
proved  only  so  far  as  it  can  be  shown  that 
these  elements  furnish  the  conditions  of 
advance. 

Approaching  the  subject  from  this  point 
of  view,  we  find  that  in  the  comparison  of 
the  present  with  the  past  we   have   placed 


THE    GAIN    OF    HISTORY     267 

the  present  at  some  disadvantage  by  com- 
paring fragments  of  this  with  the  whole  of 
that.  The  religion  of  our  fathers,  their 
science  and  their  philosophy,  their  material- 
ism and  their  idealism,  were  all  one.  With 
us  the  elements  of  thought  as  well  as  of  life 
have  become  differentiated.  Each  receives 
separate  treatment,  and  thus  when  compared 
with  the  undifferentiated  whole,  each  lacks 
something  that  is  found  in  that.  But  each 
has  thus  become  developed  into  a  fulness  of 
detail  that  was  before  impossible  ;  and  there- 
fore just  so  far  as  they  can  be  recombined 
into  a  unity  similar  to  the  old,  do  we  have 
a  fulness  and  a  grandeur  of  conception  far 
surpassing  that. 

I  think  that  we  may  assume  as  the  first 
and  most  pressing  need  of  the  spirit  is  to 
feel  itself  at  home  in  the  world,  to  feel  itself 
at  one  with  it.  The  Brahmins  in  their  for- 
est meditations  uttered  this  thought  in  a 
form  clearer  than  has  often  been  given  to  it. 
Fear,  they  urged,  comes  from  a  sense  of 
difference  between  the  soul  and  its  surround- 
ings. At  the  slightest  hint  of  such  a  differ- 
ence fear  enters.  They  thought  to  remove 
this  sense  of  disquietude  by  affirming  the 
absolute   oneness  of  the  soul  of  man  with 


268     THE    GAIN    OF    HISTORY 

the  soul  of  the  universe.  This,  however, 
was  a  mere  abstract  assertion,  so  abstract  that 
it  repelled  all  detail  by  making  the  consum- 
mation of  this  union  accomplished  in  uncon- 
sciousness ;  but  none  the  less  it  is  an 
abstraction  that  contains  a  mighty  truth,  and 
the  need  which  it  was  designed  to  meet  is 
one  that  has  been  the  stimulus  of  thought 
and  life  ever  since. 

The  great  object  of  thought  and  of  life  is 
to  produce  this  sense  of  the  oneness  of  the 
spirit  with  its  surroundings.  The  spirit 
studies  that  it  may  find  itself  in  the  outer 
world;  it  acts  that  it  may  impress  itself  upon 
the  outward  world.  This  statement  may 
be  denied,  and  especially  the  first  portion  of 
it.  We  study,  it  may  be  urged,  to  learn 
facts.  But  men  do  not  study  to  learn  facts, 
they  study  to  learn  the  truth  which  the  facts 
represent.  Facts  are  interesting  as  they  lead 
to  truth.  We  study  facts  that  we  may  put 
them  into  a  form  in  which  we  may  think 
them,  and  thus  get  at  the  truth  that  under- 
lies them  ;  and  the  more  thoroughly  facts 
can  be  thought,  that  is,  the  more  thoroughly 
the  spirit  can  find  itself  in  them,  the  more 
thoroughly  does  it  feel  itself  at  home  with 
them. 


THE    GAIN   OF   HISTORY     269 

The  great  difficulty  that  most  who  are 
not  absorbed  by  the  joy  of  actual  explora- 
tion find  with  the  physical  theories,  or 
habits  of  looking  upon  the  world,  so  preva- 
lent at  the  present  day,  is  that  in  them  the 
spirit  feels  itself  surrounded  by  foreign  ele- 
ments. The  mind  does  not  fully  recognize 
itself  in  them.  Already  a  solution  of  this 
difficulty  is  sought  by  an  elevation  of  our 
notion  of  matter,  by  bringing  matter  into 
harmony  with  the  spirit.  Thus  Tyndall 
urges  that  matter  should  be  exalted  in  our 
thought  till  it  is  looked  upon  as  the  other 
side  of  the  great  mystery,  and  equally 
worthy  and  wonderful.  A  solution  has  been 
sought  by  others  by  making  thought  a 
property  of  matter,  developed  by  it  under 
certain  circumstances  ;  which  view,  however, 
must  not  be  confounded  with  that  of  the 
Stoics,  who  made  intelligence  an  essential 
property  of  matter.  These  attempts  come 
from  the  physical  side.  From  the  meta- 
physical comes  the  attempt  to  reduce  atoms 
of  matter  to  points  of  force ;  and,  as  we  are 
directly  conscious  of  force  through  will, 
these  points  of  force  assume  a  higher  sig- 
nificance, and  the  material  is  sublimated 
into  the  spiritual. 


270     THE   GAIN   OF   HISTORY 

All  these  attempts  fail  of  their  end,  be- 
cause the  fundamental  antithesis  is  not 
between  mind  and  matter,  but  between  the 
unities,  the  wholes  amid  which  alone  the 
spirit  feels  at  home,  and  the  atoms  or  points 
with  which  science  has  to  do.  To  the  physi- 
cal view  the  world  is  broken  up,  is  ground 
down,  into  infinitesimal  atoms  of  points, 
connected  merely  externally,  and  the  whole- 
ness is  found  in  the  conjunction  and  the 
correlated  movement  of  these.  Here  is  the 
great  antithesis.  The  mind  cannot  think 
the  world  of  science,  taken  merely  as  such ; 
and  science  cannot  formulate  the  world  of 
mind. 

The  real  medium  between  the  internal 
and  the  external,  between  mind  and  matter, 
is  found  in  the  world  of  ideas.  The  mind 
is  at  home  among  ideas,  and  among  these 
only,  and  so  far  as  it  finds  the  ideal  element 
embodied  in  matter,  so  far  does  it  feel  itself 
at  home  with  that.  Who  feels  a  statue  to 
be  a  material  presence  ?  Who  is  oppressed 
by  the  mass  of  physical  details  in  a  cathe- 
dral ?  While  matter  divides  and  subdivides 
itself  till  it  is  finally  lost  in  the  endlessness 
of  the  process,  the  ideal  is  one  and  absorbs 
the    diversity    of  the    material    into     itself. 


THE    GAIN    OF    HISTORY     271 

This  ideal  element  also  manifests  itself  in  the 
natural  world.  Our  joy  in  beauty  springs 
from  the  fact  that  in  it  we  find  ourselves 
face  to  face  with  this  ideal  element.  This 
is  the  life  of  the  individual,  it  is  the  moving 
power  of  history.  This  is  the  unity  of  the 
universe.  In  the  thought  of  God,  said 
Spinoza,  the  universe  exists  as  a  single  idea. 
So  far  as  this  ideal  element  is  perceived  in 
the  outward  world,  so  far  does  the  spirit  feel 
at  home  with  it. 

This  thought  brings  us  face  to  face  with  a 
word  the  most  misused  of  any  in  the  Eng- 
lish lauguage,  misused,  first,  by  extravagant 
use,  and  afterwards  by  extravagant  abuse : 
I  mean  the  word  "  teleology."  Its  true 
use  is  not  to  be  found  in  that  view  which 
would  make  anything  exist  merely  for  the 
sake  of  something  else,  but  in  that  which 
would  make  each  exist  for  its  own  sake,  and 
also  for  the  sake  of  something  else,  and  in- 
deed for  the  sake  of  all  the  rest ;  just  as  the 
carved  stone  of  a  triumphal  arch  exists  for 
the  sake  of  its  own  beauty,  and  also  for  the 
completion  of  those  next  it,  and  for  the 
strength  and  beauty  of  the  whole.  Neither 
is  it  necessarily  found  in  that  view  which 
sees  a  special  act  of  final  causation  in  every 


=7*     THE    GATO   OF   HISTORY 

the  bottling  of?  tV  Pr°duCe  Corks  fo 
found  rathfr  in  the  'Tl  ^f^  i: 
adaptability  and  in  J  l^'  °  mutuaJ 
movement  of  the  whole  d  °nWard 

4*2£*£?r reference  t0  -* 

«tting  myself  back  i  ^ai""1  t0  be 
W1U  not  attemnf  f„  :       r  dark  a&es-     I 

consideration  f  JSfcP"  *  ^^ 
authority  of  HuxleyTwho0^"  1Uote  ** 
Descartes,  shows  the  W ,  CSSay  uPon 

scientific  thought  f^**008  of  P^ly 
fading  men  of  science  1"°,;  enUmerate  the 
Geology  under  ^eJh°  W  recogjuzed 
s.mply  shelter  m_se,f™  °.r*n °Lther.  I  will 
one  who,  more  Kf  u'^  the  name  °f 
attemptearswePeD  7s  ^  "*  °ther>  "as 

teIeoloPgicalcoT:;PtirTrtfef;nHfer 
Spencer.      He  sav*  nf  ,u  °  Herbert 

beliefs,  thatthera're  partofTh0118  re%i°US 
order  of  things       Li       f  the  constituted 

^e  direct  XitfcHf  **  he  «**» 

what  would  appear  L  I    U?knowab'e  for 


THE   GAIN    OF   HISTORY     273 

tendency  of  the  times.  He  tells  his  disci- 
ple, who  might  hesitate  to  utter  his  highest 
thought  lest  he  should  disturb  the  faith  of 
others,  that  it  is  not  for  nothing  that  he  has 
in  him  the  sympathies  with  some  principles 
and  repugnance  to  others ;  that  he,  like 
every  other  man,  may  properly  consider 
himself  as  one  of  the  myriad  agencies 
through  which  works  the  Unknown  Cause; 
and  adds  ;  "  Not  as  adventitious,  therefore, 
will  the  wise  man  regard  the  faith  that  is  in 
him."  "  Not  for  nothing,"  —  what  do  these 
words  imply  on  the  lips  of  one  who  has 
refused  to  recognize  final  causation  either 
under  the  form  of  a  plan  or  a  tendency ; 
who  has  refused  to  recognize  even  the  tend- 
ency in  the  living  body  to  assume  a  certain 
form  ?  They  imply,  perhaps,  that  when  he 
thinks  formally,  he  can  keep  himself  within 
the  artificial  limits  he  has  fixed,  but  that 
when  he  thinks  really,  his  whole  intellect 
comes  into  play.  "  Not  for  nothing,"  I 
welcome  the  words,  but  I  think  we  can 
hardly  confine  them  to  a  single  class  of 
cases.  If,  for  instance,  the  Spencerian 
philosophy  was  to  be  inspired  by  the  Un- 
known Cause,  all  the  circumstances  that, 
working  through  all  these  ages,  have  at  last 


274     THE   GAIN    OF   HISTORY 

made  the  Spencerian  philosophy  possible, 
would  not  have  been  left  to  the  action  of 
external  causes.  "  Not  for  nothing  "  is  the 
great  questioning  which  marks  our  time. 
"  Not  for  nothing "  also  are  all  the  faiths 
and  aspirations  of  the  nature.  "  Not  for 
nothing  "  is  all  that  combination  of  facts  and 
relationship,  the  myriad  delicacies  of  organi- 
zation which  furnish  the  background  for 
these  faiths  and  aspirations.  Science  has 
educated  even  our  unscientific  minds  too  far 
to  let  us  admit  a  Deus  ex  mackinay  however 
great  the  occasion;  and  if  Spencer  exclaims 
"not  for  nothing"  is  this  mighty  impulse  of 
thought  that  marks  the  age,  we  can  only 
answer,  "  not  for  nothing  "  is  anything. 

I  do  not  refer  to  the  name  of  Spencer  to 
settle  anything  by  his  authority,  but  simply 
to  show  that  one  may  speak  of  teleology  and 
yet  have  a  foothold  in  this  nineteenth  cen- 
tury. As  soon  as  we  admit  this,  as  soon  as 
we  recognize  the  ideal  element  which  is  the 
life  of  all  things,  so  soon  do  we  recognize 
the  possibility  of  reconciliation  between 
ancient  and  modern  thought.  The  ideal 
element,  taking  up  into  itself  all  the  results 
of  our  analyses,  assumes  a  grandeur  and  a 
glory  that    had   never    been    possible    to  it 


THE    GAIN    OF    HISTORY     275 

before.  Of  old,  men  recognized  the  ideal 
element  only  when  it  forced  itself  upon  their 
notice ;  now  we  can  see  it  everywhere.  The 
savage  or  the  child  can  enjoy  the  beauty  of 
the  flower.  To  the  scientist,  who  is  merely 
a  scientist,  who  tears  the  plant  to  pieces  and 
sees  only  that  which  remains,  sees  only  that 
which  is  technical  and  mechanical,  the  flower 
is  no  more  beautiful  than  the  root.  To  the 
man  of  science,  however,  in  whose  heart  the 
child  still  lives,  who  still  has  the  sense  of 
the  unity,  the  beauty  and  the  mystery  of 
life,  the  root  becomes  hardly  less  beautiful 
than  the  flower.  To  the  man  who  unites 
this  twofold  life,  the  ideal  element  does  not 
manifest  itself  here  and  there  only,  but 
everywhere.  The  universe  becomes,  not 
here  and  there,  but  at  every  point,  transpar- 
ent and  transfigured.  The  atoms  or  the 
points  show  themselves  in  their  discreteness 
only  to  be  lost  again  in  the  unity  of  the 
whole,  which  has  become  richer  and  fuller 
by  the  change.  Thus  the  new  does  not 
supplant  the  old,  but  completes  it.  And 
herein  we  see  the  reality  of  the  world's 
advance.  By  the  combination  and  utili- 
zation of  our  results,  a  fulness  of  life  was 
possible  that  was  never  possible  before. 


276     THE    GAIN    OF    HISTORY 

How  this  principle  applies  to  the  differ- 
entiation in  our  modern  society  we  cannot 
here  discuss.  I  would  merely  say  that  the 
education  of  all  may  make  each  share  some- 
thing of  the  fulness  of  our  modern  life,  how- 
ever narrow  his  individual  lot  may  be ;  and 
further,  that  this  differentiation  of  society 
calls  for  and  makes  possible  the  ideal  ele- 
ment in  statesmanship,  just  as  the  analyses 
of  modern  science  give  fresh  space  and 
power  to  the  ideal  element  of  thought. 

I  have  spoken  with  more  or  less  abstract- 
ness :  concrete  examples  may  make  my 
thought  more  clear.  For  these  we  have  not 
far  to  seek.  Two  of  our  number,  who  have 
recently  left  us,  force  themselves,  in  this 
connection,  upon  our  thought.  One  of 
them  showed  himself  the  child  of  this  large 
century  by  the  very  circumstances  of  his 
life.  The  child  of  both  hemispheres,  his 
mind  was  enriched  by  what  each  could  fur- 
nish. He  was,  not  merely  by  profession, 
but  by  all  the  strength  and  enthusiasm  of 
his  nature,  a  student  and  a  teacher  of  science. 
Not  only  did  he  make  the  science  of  the  age 
his  own.  The  wealth  of  the  age  showed 
itself  worthy  of  our  pride  by  offering  itself 
to   his  use,  and  opening  new  realms  to  his 


THE   GAIN   OF    HISTORY     277 

unwearied  search.  He  was  a  man  of  detail ; 
no  fact  was  too  minute  or  trifling  for  his 
observation.  But  in  the  midst  of  all  this 
ponderous  accumulation  of  knowledge  the 
heart  of  the  child,  the  heart  of  love,  of  won- 
der, the  ever  fresh  sense  of  the  beauty  of 
the  beautiful,  still  lived  in  him.  The  ideal- 
izing faculty  accepted  all  this  detail  and  used 
it  for  its  ends.  It  was  said  that  he  shrank 
overmuch  from  theory.  I  do  not  know  how 
this  may  have  been,  but  what  we  all  know 
is  that  he  saw  everywhere,  in  all  the  diver- 
sities of  the  universe,  the  presence  of  a  plan. 
Just  as  a  musical  theme  unites  all  manifold- 
ness  of  variation  into  one  grand  all-pervad- 
ing movement,  the  divine  plan  met  him 
everywhere  and  glorified  the  whole.  Thus 
to  the  child's  sense  of  beauty,  and  the  child's 
joy  in  it,  was  added  the  trained  insight  that 
saw  that  the  whole  was  beautiful. 

As  Agassiz  carried  the  ideal  element  into 
science,  Sumner  carried  it  into  statesmanship. 
As  the  one  was  cosmopolitan  in  space,  owned 
by  two  continents,  the  other  was  cosmopol- 
itan in  time.  The  history  of  the  past  was 
familiar  and  real  to  him  as  the  life  of  the 
present.  He  did  not  go  to  the  past  as  a 
student    merely.     In    him    it  lived    afresh. 


278     THE    GAIN    OF    HISTORY 

His  lips  caught  eloquence  from  the  orators 
of  old,  and  the  experience  of  the  past  threw 
light  upon  the  present.  Upon  the  confused 
and  warring  elements  of  our  life  he  brought 
to  bear  the  power  of  an  idea.  To  this  he 
consecrated  himself.  It  has  been  said  that 
his  nature  was  marked  by  an  over  self-asser- 
tion; if  this  be  so  it  is  fortunate  that  his 
lesser  self  was  so  absorbed  into  that  idea 
which  was  his  larger  self,  that  his  self-asser- 
tion became  the  assertion  of  this  idea.  The 
hardest  and  harshest  elements  of  the  life 
about  him  became  the  servants  of  this  idea. 
He  forgave  the  hand  that  was  raised  against 
himself,  then,  which  was  much  harder,  the 
hands  that  were  raised  against  his  country. 
And  when  he  died  the  memory  of  his  con- 
secration and  of  his  forgiveness  united  to 
give  fresh  power  to  the  idea  which  had  been 
his  being. 

I  have  said  that  the  real  gain  of  history  is 
found  in  the  fact  that  in  this  age  life  may  be 
larger  and  fuller  than  in  an  earlier  age.  In 
illustration  I  point  to  Agassiz  and  Sumner. 
You  may  have  differed  with  them  in  many 
things,  you  may  have  criticised  some  of  their 
methods  and  results ;  but  I  ask,  confident 
of  the  answer,  In  what  other  age  would  these 
lives,  so  large,  so  full,  have  been  possible  ? 


THE   GAIN    OF    HISTORY     a79 

I  am  in  this  comparison  referring  not  to 
the  personalities  of  these  men,  but  to  their 
opportunities.  There  have  been  students 
as  earnest  and  childlike ;  but  when  has  the 
world  been  thrown  open  to  the  gaze  of  the 
spirit  as  it  is  to-day  ?  There  have  been 
statesmen  as  pure  and  strong;  but  when, 
save  in  these  later  generations,  do  we  find 
examples  of  a  successful  statesmanship,  which 
has  taken  note  of  man  as  man,  which  has 
united  the  lowest  and  the  highest  in  one 
view? 

I  do  not  refer  to  these  men  as  represent- 
ing the  ideal  element  in  its  most  perfect 
form ;  but  in  part  as  symbols  of  the  true 
use,  the  use  which  will  one  day  be  actually 
made,  of  the  material  which  the  age  is 
accumulating.  At  present  it  is  overbur- 
dened by  details.  It  is  the  novelty  and 
abundance  of  these  details  that  give  to  it 
the  aspect  of  materialism.  At  each  newly 
discovered  fact  in  regard  to  the  relation  of 
mind  and  matter  comes  the  cry  of  material- 
ism. But  no  fact  can  be  more  materialistic 
than  the  fact  that  we  have  bodies.  No 
theory  of  the  origin  of  the  human  race  can 
be  more  materialistic  than  the  fact  of  the 
birth  of  the  individual.     So  soon  as  the  new 


28o    THE   GAIN   OF   HISTORY 

facts  are  familiar  as  the  old  they  will  become 
spiritualized  like  the  old.  For  spiritual 
facts,  though  for  a  moment  lost  sight  of,  are 
as  permanent  as  any  others,  and  more  real 
than  all  others,  and  in  the  long  run  incor- 
porate all  others  into  themselves,  and  are  the 
larger  and  fresher  through  every  gain.  So 
that  while  our  Aryan  fathers  saw  more  or 
less  grotesque,  more  or  less  sublime  forms 
of  divinity,  looking  out  from  the  earth  and 
the  heavens,  and  saw  more  truly  than  those 
who  see  no  divinity  at  all,  when  the  want  of 
the  present  is  completed,  every  detail  of 
science  shall  add  to  the  glory  of  the  ideal, 
and  the  spiritual  shall  be  seen  to  be  first  and 
all  pervading  as  well  as  last. 

Meanwhile,  though  another  age  shall  lead 
our  work  to  its  full  completeness,  we  have 
the  joy  of  the  seeking  and  the  finding,  and 
may  be  content. 


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